


Awakening

by chloemaay



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bottom Ian, Bottom Ian Gallagher, Future Fic, Gallavich, Ian x Mickey - Freeform, M/M, Post Season 5, Post-Canon, Top Mickey, Top Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chloemaay/pseuds/chloemaay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been over 3 years since Ian stood on the steps and broke up with Mickey, over 3 years since Mickey was sent to prison. A lot has changed since then, but one thing can always be relied on; Terry Milkovich sure knows how to bring them back together again. There are certain people you just keep coming back to.</p><p>This is my first fic in 3 years, and my first Shameless fic! As a side note, each chapter title (and the story title) is a song by Yellowcard; it helped me shape the fic and inspired me to write it in the beginning. Thanks heaps!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awakening

The death of Terry Milkovich affected everyone on the south side differently. It didn't take long for the majority of the population to hear about it; it made the six o'clock news, for fuck's sake. It wasn't exactly like he died peacefully in his sleep – that wouldn't be the Milkovich way, now would it? No mourners by the bed or hospice care for Terry. No fucking way.

Terry went out with a bang. According to news reports, Terry was awaiting a shipment of meth or cocaine or some other illegal substance in an abandoned warehouse. The biggest bust the cops had had in awhile, apparently, and one that Terry was determined not to be charged for, right up until the last gunshot. There are some who say he was murdered by a rival family gang that had moved into town the month before, but the only thing anyone knew for sure was that he was dead.

Seconds before the deal went through, bedlam broke out as the cops burst in. Bullets were whipping through the air as Terry retreated. One witness tells the story of how Terry crawled away, like a fucking coward. In the end, a bullet or ten happened to hit some gas tanks in the corner of the room and the whole place lit up. 5 cops dead. More than 13 injured. Almost every thug in the warehouse died, spare a few who were too injured to be sent to prison and all of whom testified against Terry the first chance they got. A lifetime of being in and out of prison, on the receiving end of multiple convictions, Terry was infamous. It was only a matter of time.

 

**

 

Ian Gallagher was stepping out the door of his small flat a block away from where he had grown up when his phone buzzed in his pocket. A text message. The sun was slowly setting but the heat of the day remained, and Ian felt beads of sweat already forming on his forehead. Wiping them away with one hand, he locked the door with his other. He had a rare night off; after a solid week of night shifts at The Court, the newest gay bar in town and fast on its way to becoming the most popular, he relished the thought of doing not much at all. Thankfully though, work wasn't as tough as it had been when he was younger; he was no longer dancing for leering old men. He worked as a security guard on the door, his ROTC days (and very brief army training) had prepared him well and now he threw sleaze balls out rather than giving them private shows. That's not to say there wasn't the odd guy who caught his eye.

His phone buzzed again, but this time it didn't stop, indicating a call. Ian shoved his keys roughly into his pocket before pulling his phone out. The screen flashed a face and a name at him.

_Mandy._

“I thought we weren't meeting till 7? I'm leaving the house now,” One hand to the phone, he used his free hand to light the cigarette he'd just put in his mouth. Fiona had been on at him to quit after she'd recently celebrated 6 months of not smoking herself; Ian wasn't as keen. One of his meds tended to make him shaky and it took the edge off. He hadn't had one all day after catching up on sleep, and it was like finally being able to breathe again. “Mandy?”

“They let me off work early. I'm on my way home. Can we stay in tonight?” Her words clipped off at the end abruptly and Ian frowned, taking a long drag on his smoke before exhaling slowly. In their 2 years of living together, plus growing up together, Ian knew a lot about Mandy in what she did – or didn't – tell him. They shared almost everything with each other, Mandy only letting up on what she got up to with her boyfriends as Ian hated to hear about it. They had a great friendship and the stability of it was just what Ian had – and still – needed. 

Mandy had come back into his life at the perfect time. He had gotten himself on to his meds properly after everything had gone down with Mickey and Sammi. That doesn't mean it was an easy road, though. He had struggled with how they had made him feel for the first month or two; it took some getting used to being tired almost all of the time. When he finally had more energy, he found that no one wanted to hire a bipolar AWOL army soldier. It seems Sammi had done more than just call the army on Ian; she had spread the word about Ian's condition and exaggerated more than enough. 

It was after a year of multiple jobs that Mandy had shown up on the family doorstep, no doubt glad that Lip had been away finishing his final year at college. Ian had instantly remembered everything he had loved about her when her first words were “Let's get drunk.” She listened to everything he had to say about the disorder, his life, and of course, her brother. In turn, he had let her cry about Kenyatta and all he had put her through. They were inseparable after that and Ian wouldn't have had it any other way.

But now, after listening to her short sentences and hearing nothing but silence on the other end of the phone, Ian knew something wasn't right. 

“Of course. What's up?” He sat down on the front step and stared out into the street in front of him. A kid went past on his bike and Ian tried not to laugh as he almost skidded out of control around a corner. He repeated himself again, “Mandy?”

“Dad died.”

 

**

 

To go from being a convicted felon with multiple arrests, juvie visits and charges on your record, to a reasonably upstanding citizen who can hold down a job and stay out of trouble was no easy feat. The things that influence us as we grow up are not easy to erase, and when we've been conditioned and taught to behave a certain way, it takes a lot of time to change that about a person. Mickey Milkovich had had plenty of fucking time, though.

His first year of prison was hell. Unspoken rules and alliances forced him to realise he wasn't as tough as he thought, and there were times when he got his head kicked in. Several, in fact. Add to that the fact that his brothers practically disowned him for fear of being sent to prison, too (not a brain cell between them could figure out that they weren't connected to the crime, therefore couldn't be fucking charged), and Mandy didn't show her face until his second year. She had known about his incarceration, apparently, but Kenyatta was adamant that she not visit him. After an incredibly rough few months, Kenyatta was arrested for selling drugs, and was put away – thankfully, in a prison far away from Mickey. She was finally sorting her shit and as much as Mickey was happy for his sister, she wasn't the visitor he was waiting for.

“You look like shit, Mick.”

“Thanks a-fucking-lot, little sister,” Mickey hitched his best scowl onto his face but he couldn't hide the fact that he was glad to see her. He had quietly regretted not doing more to help her with Kenyatta and it made him happy to know that the fucker had got what was coming to him. “Have you – uh, have you heard from Ian?”

Mandy bit her lip and hesitated a split second before shaking her head. “No. You haven't?”

Mickey couldn't stand the sadness in her eyes for him and he laughed harshly. “Who gives a fuck, right? What are you going to do now that you've left fuck face?”

Svetlana and Yev had visited once. It was a fleeting visit but Mickey was thankful for the slightly friendlier face compared to his sister; Svet had met someone new, and the mystery woman was taking Svetlana and Yev to New York. A small part of Mickey had been sad at the news, but what kind of father could he have been from prison? They'd agreed to visit once Mickey was out but he knew at least that Yev was being looked after.

Nor was it Lip that he wished to see, possibly his least favourite Gallagher, who came to visit not even a month into Mickey's sentence. How he had known where Mickey was a mystery but his visit had only irked the felon further.

“I just wanted you to know that Ian is getting himself sorted.” No greetings. Not that Mickey gave him one. “He's started taking his meds regularly.”

“Where the fuck is he to tell me that?” Lip looked down into his lap and sighed into the phone. 

“He's getting himself sorted, Mickey. Isn't that enough for you? What, you want fucking conjugated visits or some shit?” Lip's smug face stared at him through the glass and it was all Mickey could do to not put his fist through it. Instead, he calmly put the phone down, flipped the second eldest Gallagher off and walked away.

Ian didn't visit him. Not once. No letters. There was no word, apart from through Lip, but that hadn't even been _from_ Ian. He couldn't pretend that it didn't hurt that Ian didn't visit. It fucking hurt. More than that, he wanted to know how Ian was doing. If he was okay. That stupid fucking redhead Gallagher with his stupid fucking eyes and his stupid fucking smile and the fact that Mickey was stupidly fucking in love with him. He hated him. He hated him with every inch of his being but he also knew how twisted it was in that if Ian walked towards him in the next moment, that would all disappear.

After 2 years in prison, the judge decided that due to good behaviour (and no doubt over-crowding like his juvie days), Mickey would be released early. At the time of his release, Mandy hadn't been to visit in nearly 4 months. The last he had heard was that she was planning on moving back to the south side with a friend, and during her last visit they had argued when he kept bringing up Ian. She was mad that he kept pushing for information; she'd been insistent that Mickey let it lie and so he had. “Maybe Ian doesn't want you to find him.” It was a hard thought to accept, but it settled in and nagged at Mickey until he accepted that maybe Mandy had been right. Ian didn't want or need him, otherwise he would have fucking visited.

The decision to not go back to the south side had been an easy one. Despite the fact that his shit hole of a father had long been released from whatever he'd been locked up for, Mickey didn't feel like returning to a place that held so many memories, the majority of them bad. He knew of a distant uncle in Wisconsin and decided that it wasn't too far from Chicago should he need to visit. He didn't let Mandy know where he was until he was settled in; his parole officer had helped him with a job and it didn't take long for him to work himself into a routine that he found almost comforting. He moved out of his uncle's house into his own, and managed to set up a decent life for himself. The only thing that was missing was company.

It was just over a year after he'd been released, three and a half years since he'd been sentenced that he happened to watch the news for the first time in ever. He normally hated it. 'Look at what's wrong with the world!' Mickey watched TV a lot; he couldn't do music. The pictures that formed in his head through the lyrics he heard were too much to bear, even now. Somehow, his warped brain always managed to relate songs back to Ian. Still, Ian was all he thought of. With no real friends, definitely no one to share his bed with, any mention of Ian, or anything possibly relating to him, had Mickey down in the dumps for days. What a fucking sap. He'd flicked through the channels, not really paying attention, when an aerial shot of Chicago caught his eye. A warehouse was smouldering and a woman was talking about casualties.

“Among the dead were 5 police officers, all of whom will be honoured at a special ceremony next week. The police chief has praised their commitment to bringing criminal mastermind Terry Milkovich to justice. Unfortunately, Terry will not be able to stand trial for his crimes after he was caught in the explosion and did not survive.”

A blunt dullness settled over Mickey. The smallest smirk made its way onto his face at the word 'mastermind' as he imagined what Terry would have thought of that. He would have fucking loved it, the prick. The news report ended and they cut to ads. A man yelled at him about a rug sale but Mickey was no longer listening. The ads continued and his eyes became unfocused as his mind drifted back to the news report. Dead. His phone suddenly burst to life with a call next to him, making him jump.

_Mandy._

“The fuck do you want?” He knew why she was calling but he was delaying the discussion as long as he could. The news program started up again but this time they were talking about something dumb some politician had said. Mickey hit mute on his remote and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Mickey. Where are you?”

“You know where I am. What is it, Mandy? I've gotta go to work,” He lied easily but it did nothing to stop the rise of anxiety building within him.

“Dad died, Mick.” He couldn't tell how she felt about it, and therefore didn't know how to react to the 'news'. Fuck, if he really thought about it, he had no idea how he felt about it, either. “You have to come home.”

Mickey breathed out a long sigh. “I know. Text me your address and I'll get there in a few days.”

They hung up after that and Mickey stared at the phone in his lap. Silently, he scrolled through the contacts on his phone till he reached the one he had never deleted, even after getting his phone back at the end of his sentence. His thumb hovered over the numbers on the screen. What would ringing him now do, really? Fucking nothing. Maybe make Ian feel better about deserting Mickey? Help Mickey get over the fucking redhead that seemed to continuously haunt him? _Jesus._ He shook his head roughly. Threw his phone across the couch where it bounced and landed face up, the contact photo smiling up at him. Fuck this.

Shutting the TV and clearing Ian's face from his phone, Mickey grabbed a beer from his fridge before retiring to his bedroom. _Fuck this._ How was he even supposed to feel about his dad's death? It felt weird to him that it was even affecting him, considering they hadn't seen one another after they beat the shit out of each other at The Alibi all those years ago. His dad had made it clear how he'd felt about Mickey and there was no fucking way the man had had a change of heart in that time. As far as Mickey was concerned, he was pleased.

Then why did he feel hollow? Like something was wrong? He sat slumped on the bed, his phone lifeless next to him, taking swigs of his beer every few seconds or so. He was aware that he was drinking it too fast, but at that point he didn't really care. It was a Friday night and he was planning on heading to bed soon, anyway. What a fucking riot. He stared into the darkness and took another sip. Mickey's fucking dad was dead. There had been times Mickey had wanted to kill him with his own bare hands and yet now that it had happened, he almost felt sad about it.

There was one thing he couldn't think about just yet. It had made him nervous just hearing Mandy ask him to come back to the south side; the last time he'd been there had been when Sammi had chased his ass down with a fucking gun. When Ian had broken up with him. Going back would mean driving through his old neighbourhood, walking past the Kash and Grab. Seeing Ian's old house. He drained the last of his beer and set it on his bedside table. A sigh escaped his lips as a text from Mandy came through. Her address. Another noise and Mickey picked up his phone.

_Please let me know when you're planning on getting here. I have something to tell you before you get to the house._

Without any clue what she was on about, Mickey slumped further down into his bed and put his phone aside. He put his head under the pillow and slowly pulled the blankets over his whole body. Ever since he was a kid, he can remember hiding from his problems in this way. It blocked out sound quite effectively and had made him feel safe. Now, he couldn't escape his thoughts of the south side, his dad and what Mandy was hiding at her house. And even with all this going on, all Mickey could see was Ian.


	2. Hang You Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're alive."

Mickey liked to tell himself it was nothing to do with Ian, the reason he was on the next train to Chicago. Hell, he had no idea where the fuck Ian was. Fucking New Zealand for all he knew. Why would he rush to Chicago? To be with his sister, he'd told his boss who had given him 2 weeks off. Mickey didn't really plan on being back home longer than he had to, but he appreciated the sentiment. No, it was nothing to do with Ian. Who knew where he was. Maybe it was the fact that he was going home where he had grown up, home to where everything had started with Ian. Of course it was to do with fucking Ian.

The day after he'd heard the news about his dad, Mickey had booked his seat on the train. He would arrive in Chicago around 7pm that evening, and Mandy was going to pick him up herself. He'd packed quickly, not really thinking clearly. It was summer, and yet for some reason he'd packed his thickest winter coat? It took him three goes at zipping up his bag before he realised his mistake. Now, sat on the train with half an hour left of the journey, Mickey really began to panic. Why did he feel so nervous? He mentally punched himself. He was a different person now, and so was his sister. He would stay a few days, attend the bastard's funeral and go home. He might even keep his 2 weeks off just to relax; god knows he needed it.

He still wasn't sure how to feel about his dad dying; it was quite an odd sensation, really, knowing that Terry wasn't in the world any more. It wasn't as if they had ever been close – not with father-to-son bonding sessions, that's for sure – but he was still half of the reason Mickey had been brought into the world and that wasn't something he couldn't seem to look past, no matter how much fucked up shit went on. 

The train pulled into the station slowly and Mickey had time to stare out the window at the people milling up and down the platform. As luck would have it, the train stopped so that Mickey's window was lined up next to where Mandy was standing and he felt a lurch of responsibility towards her; she'd mentioned in a text that none their other siblings would be making the trip back for the funeral. No doubt they were in prison. She gave him a small smile and he flipped her off, making her laugh. 

“Hey,” It was a quiet greeting when he stepped off the train and Mickey pulled his sister towards him, placing a small kiss on her head. It was overly affectionate for the pair of them, especially considering they hadn't seen each other in awhile, but it felt right. Mandy moved away first, clearing her throat and speaking a little louder this time. “Train go okay?”

“Yeah, you know,” He hitched his bag onto his shoulder and glanced around. “Let's get out of here.”

She led him to a beat up old hatchback in the car park, but it was clearly her pride and joy; she'd bought new seat covers and it had a decent sound system, too. He threw his bag into the back and settled in the passenger seat. Mandy clicked her belt in and then looked at him carefully. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” She started the car, still looking at him strangely as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto a highway. Mickey sighed. “The fuck is it, Mandy? Do I have something in my fucking teeth?”

“I have to tell you something. But you can't get mad at me.” She was biting her lip, her eyes now on the road in front of her. “You have to promise me, Mickey.”

“How about you tell me what it is, and then I'll decide if I'm mad or not?” 

“Hardly fair, asshole. Promise me you won't yell.” She was driving quickly, Mickey already starting to recognise the neighbourhoods on either side of the highway. Something sat unsettled inside him and he found he wasn't actually hungry. It was nerves – at seeing his old neighbourhood, but also at whatever unknown thing Mandy was about to spill.

“Fine. I won't yell. But I can't promise I won't be mad.” He turned to look at her more clearly, her face illuminated by the street lights then falling into darkness again as they passed each one by. It was a weird effect and he turned back to the window instead. “Are we close to home?”

“Yeah, only about ten minutes away. Do you remember when I told you I was coming back here? To the south side?” Mickey nodded and she carried on, sounding nervous. “I told you I was moving in with a friend, right?”

“Where are you going with this?” Mickey's eye caught more familiar streets, passing by the liquor store he'd visited at least once every few days. His stomach lurched as they drove past the Kash and Grab and Mickey closed his eyes for a second. “Are we nearly there?”

“Christ, Mickey, yes. A few blocks away.” Mandy took a deep breath and let it all out in one go. “The friend I was moving in with was Ian.”

Of course, Mickey would later argue that he had been recently shaken by seeing familiar landmarks from his childhood. As if that was any excuse. The moment he'd heard Ian's name, he felt something inside flip over and over, making him feel ill. He slowly turned his head to his sister and stared at her. She was biting her lip so hard it looked close to bleeding. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No.”

“Where is he now? Does he live somewhere else now?” Mickey clenched his hands into fists and tried to control his breathing as he waited for her to answer. The hesitation told him all he needed to know but he demanded an answer anyway. “Mandy?”

“No.” It was almost a whisper and she continued, “We still live together. You'll see him tomorrow morning. Maybe tonight.”

Without a thought, Mickey slammed his fist into the dashboard and Mandy let out a cry, swerving slightly on the road. She flung her arm out and slapped him hard. “Fucking calm down!”

“What the fuck, Mandy? Calm down? Are you fucking kidding me?” Mickey barely noticed the car slowing down as it rounded a corner. Within a minute, it had stopped outside a small, two storey house. It loomed in front of him and Mickey had wild ideas of staying in a hotel. “You told me you didn't know where he was. Did you know back when I first got put away?”

“No! I didn't see him until after I'd left Kenyatta. I came to see you then came back here. I didn't even know he was still here until I knocked on the Gallagher's door.” Mandy unbuckled her seatbelt but Mickey made no moves. His anger dissipated as he looked over at his sister again. “He's been really good to me, Mickey, and I think I've helped him, too.”

“Helped him?” His voice broke and he cleared his throat gruffly. “Is he inside?”

“No, he was going to be working tonight I think. Are you going to come in?”

“Do I have a fucking choice?”

But of course he did. He could have stayed somewhere else; he could have found some dingy hotel to stay in. But he didn't. He knew fucking why, too.

Fucking Ian Gallagher.

 

**

 

The benefits of being a security guard outside a gay bar were second to none. For Ian, he liked knowing that he was, in some way, protecting those who entered – and those waiting outside in a line to get in. There had only been a few incidents since he'd started working that his ROTC training had really come in handy; some homophobic asshole had managed to get in and started a fight with someone on the dance floor. Ian had handled it perfectly and the owner had even given him a raise for it. He got to know the regulars, too, made a few friends and a few more-than-friends friends. As well as that, he had all the eye candy he could ever want. The late nights weren't a problem as he usually worked three nights on and another three off; he worked with great people and enjoyed his job.

Tonight however, he did not. Mickey Milkovich was going to be in his _house_ and Ian wasn't sure how to deal with it. For the longest time, Ian hadn't let himself think about Mickey in any way. That's not to say that the blue eyed boy he grew up with didn't creep back into his subconscious; there were brief moments with some of the men he'd met through work that Mickey's face would randomly appear to him, throwing him off guard. It was disconcerting and Ian hated it.

When Mandy had appeared on his doorstep all those years ago, Ian's first thought was Mickey. After realising that they were in contact – albeit the odd visit – Ian pushed her to keep quiet about where he was. Mandy was insistent to begin with and it took a lot for Ian to convince her that it was best for Mickey this way. He didn't need to spend his life looking after Ian and wondering if he was alright all the time – Mickey needed to move on with his life, and Ian wasn't going to help him to do that. He didn't need a nurse. Nevermind that it killed Ian to see the look in Mickey's eye – that look like he was uncertain who he was looking at, who Ian was any more. Sympathy. Pity. That's what killed him.

When Mandy had come home in tears about her dad, Ian had comforted her. They talked a bit about what an asshole he was, and how confused Mandy felt about it all. They sat on the front step of their flat, a regular spot for late night talks, until the stars shone above them. Then Mickey's name came up.

“I called Mickey after I called you; he's going to come through for the funeral.” Ian physically stiffened at the thought of it and ideas flashed through his mind of taking off for the next few weeks, staying with Lip at college or hiding out in Fiona’s spare room. Mandy went on. “You'll come as well, right?”

“You don't even have to ask, Mandy,” And of course he had to go. There was no other answer to that question, no matter what Ian had felt about Terry, nor how terrified he was to run into Mickey. Even Mandy had admitted she felt weird having a funeral, but Terry had friends (somehow?) and she felt as if she should. Ian could understand the conflicting feelings she must have been feeling; he'd gone through it a year before when Frank had died – ironically enough, he was hit by a truck delivering beer to The Alibi. Attempting to keep his voice light, he prodded a bit more about Mickey. “When is Mickey arriving?”

“I'm not sure yet,” She sat up straighter on the front step and eyed him up. “He still doesn't know I live with you. What do you want me to tell him?”

That was the golden question, really. Tell Mickey that his sister had been lying to him for the last 2 or so years – at Ian's insistence, of course – or make up some bullshit story. There was only one thing to do, really, but Ian hated even saying it. “Tell him the truth, but make sure he knows it was my fault. I can deal with him.”

Could he, though? After actively avoiding even thinking about him since he'd stood on his doorstep and heard Mickey finally say those three words – three words that he'd wanted to hear for so long, and yet all he could think when he finally heard them was that he just wanted Mickey to leave, just leave so he could think – seeing him again wasn't going to be easy and he didn't want to do it. Like a petulant child, he plotted ways to delay the funeral, or skip it altogether. The inevitable meeting between the pair of them hung around like a dark cloud over him that night, and the next morning when Mandy text with Mickey's arrival details, Ian found himself feeling almost ill.

Now, standing outside feeling oddly cold despite the warm air of the night, Ian couldn't keep his mind on work. The other guard who worked the same shifts as him, Josh, picked up on it, too.

“What's with you tonight, dude?” He questioned, staring at Ian as he waved two more people inside after checking their identification. “You need to get laid or something?”

“So classy, Josh,” Ian rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I'm okay. An old friend is coming into town tonight. I haven't seen him in awhile.”

“Old friend, eh?” Giving him a theatrical wink, Josh laughed at his own joke and looked at the now empty line to come into the club. “You bang him?”

“You could say that, yeah.”

“Dude, I was only kidding. You look white as a sheet.”

“Do I?” Ian was only vaguely aware of what Josh was saying as he glanced at his watch and realised that Mickey arrived over two hours ago. He was probably at home right now. Ian's home.

“It's quiet tonight. Why don't you head out early? I can handle it.”

“Don't be ridiculous, I got this.” 

“No, dude, you don't. Plus, Family Bar are running a gay quiz tonight or whatever – everyone is over there.” He had a point but Ian shrugged his shoulders. Going home early meant the possibility of seeing Mickey. “I can't stand to look at your fuckin' mopey face any more, dude. Go, will you?”

Josh was the only person Ian knew over the age of fifteen who said dude so frequently. “You sure?” But Ian had already made up his mind. He'd grab a bite to eat and then head home. If he was lucky, Mickey would already be asleep.

 

**

 

Mickey was not asleep and had no plans of being asleep any time soon. Mandy had tried to explain that Ian hadn't wanted Mickey to know where he was, but that had only enraged him further. His sister had retired to her room early, tired of repeating herself and sticking up for Ian when Mickey didn't want to hear it. Who knows what reasons Ian was going to give but Mickey was in a mind to stay up until he got home from wherever it was he was working – he laughed harshly at the thought of Ian still dancing but hated himself for it immediately. He didn't want that for Ian and he knew it, it was just a little hard to see through his anger right now.

Mandy's place had 3 bedrooms – spacious for two poor kids from the south side. The bedroom Mickey was in was directly opposite Ian's – of _course_ – and Mickey now paced in the hallway between the two bedrooms, Mandy's door shut at the end of the hall. He was trying his best to keep quiet but found himself getting more and more worked up the more he thought about it. Ian had been here the whole time. When Mandy had been to visit, and Mickey had asked, she had lied right to his face. All because Ian had told her to. The fuck was wrong with him?

It was a little after eleven when Mickey heard a noise downstairs. The front door opened and closed, the noise almost impossible to hear. As if someone was trying not to be heard. Mickey rolled his eyes as Ian tripped over something – probably his own fucking feet – and thudded against the wall. Whatever went down when they saw each other, Mandy didn't deserve to be woken up. Ignoring every last bit of anxiety welling up within him, Mickey descended the staircase and stepped into the living room. Ian was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear a noise in the kitchen and saw that the light was on. Mickey walked towards the adjoining room and held his breath.

Ian stood with his back to him, washing something off in the sink. Mickey started for a full minute, not really bothering to make his presence known but the way Ian stood, he was sure Ian knew he was there. He hadn't changed, was his first thought. Not really. He looked slightly taller, but how much taller could he get, realistically? His hair was shorter than Mickey remembered it last, closer to how short Ian had had it in his ROTC days and Mickey found himself pleased about that fact. He'd always liked it short. The plain black pants and black t-shirt that Ian wore fit him well, accentuating the muscles he must have worked back after he was diagnosed. Mickey was mad to find himself appreciating Ian's appearance. He wasn't here for this.

“Ian.”

The younger boy turned slowly, whatever he had been washing long forgotten in the sink. It was like a slow motion scene from a movie; Mickey stood still, arms at his side, no expression on his face, just staring. Ian looked nervous, however and it took a second before Mickey remembered what he'd have to be nervous about. For some reason, though, Mickey found he didn't feel anything in particular except relief. “You're alive.”

Ian moved swiftly towards him just two steps before halting just as quickly, as if remembering himself all of a sudden. He covered up the move – Mickey was sure he was going to hug him – with a hand running through his hair. “I'm alive.” His hands came together awkwardly then, twisting in front of him and Mickey could feel how nervous he was. “How are you, Mick?”

Something inside Mickey twinged at the nickname but he pushed it aside, relaxing slightly. Nervously, he wiped his thumb across his bottom lip. Ian stood just feet away from him, a sight he had wanted for so long but now that it was here, he didn't know what to do. All reasonable thought had left Mickey and he was left with one single fact that he knew was for sure: not a damn feeling he'd felt for Ian all those years ago had disappeared, and in that very moment, they all came flooding back at full force.

 

**

 

“How are you, Mick?” What a stupid question. Why would he even ask that? How fucking stupid was he? Mentally, Ian shook his head and resolved to think at least for a second before speaking from now on. Mickey just stared at him, though. Ian seemed to go from one moment to the next, caught up in everything he'd missed about Mickey. He noticed the way Mickey's eyes hadn't seemed to have dulled at all, still that sparkling blue that Ian had found himself lost in. The fucker still did that thing with his thumb over his lip and Ian felt a low swoop in his stomach at the sight of it. It took him a moment to realise that Mickey had spoken and this time he physically shook his head. “Sorry?”

The smallest of smirks flew across Mickey's lips, gone as soon as it appeared. He knew what affect he was having on Ian and the latter hated it. “I said I'm good.”

“Great.”

_I'm sorry I didn't visit. I'm sorry I didn't write. I wanted to, I wanted to more than anything. I couldn't do it. I missed you. I miss you._

“I had a long night at work. Gonna head to bed,” Ian mumbled, almost in a whisper, before pushing past Mickey and heading straight for the stairs, leaving him standing in the kitchen alone. Fuck. Fuck. He didn't want to see him at all, let alone like that. And where had all those thoughts come from? He closed his bedroom door behind him and flung his body onto his bed, his face buried into the pillow in a dramatic rendition of teenagers everywhere. What the fuck had he been thinking, _'I miss you'?_ He didn't think he'd thought about Mickey enough to have missed him but apparently his mind had had other ideas. Rolling onto his back and reaching onto his bedside table for his pack of cigarettes, he listened as footsteps came slowly up the steps and stopped outside. His breath caught in his throat, he waited until they moved once more and a door close. He let it all out in a sigh.

What the _fuck_ was he going to do in the morning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I decided to upload chapter two already because I had it sitting there, so why not? Thank you for the comments! Keep them coming so I know I'm doing okay ;) Thank you thank you!
> 
> Come hang on tumblr: thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com


	3. A Vicious Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How the fuck are you, Firecrotch?"

The actual funeral of Terry Milkovich was planned somewhat in secret between different family members. He was quite a hated man, and some people had mentioned hearing about those who wanted to crash his funeral. If he really thought about it, Mickey was probably one of those people. He wanted to kick his dad in the face, if he was really honest with himself. Or maybe he was directing his anger at his dad when really, he should have been sending it to someone in the bedroom across the hall. 

Mandy had come into his bedroom early the next morning after he'd arrived back in Chicago. She had to leave for work but the funeral had been planned for the following day at ten in the morning. A short service in which they were invited to talk about Terry's life – no fucking way – before drinks at The Alibi. Kev had agreed to shout one round of drinks but had been adamant that that was it. No love lost there. Mandy wanted Mickey to make sure he had a suit (he did), and to not beat Ian up. Mickey had laughed at the second request, rubbing his eyes sleepily before glaring up at his sister. “You think I would do that?”

“No, but I felt like I should warn you anyway. Don't be a prick.” She swatted him over the head and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Mickey rolled onto his back and stretched out lazily, enjoying the feeling of not having to go to work. His phone buzzed next to him and he picked it up, vaguely aware that it was still only early morning.

_I'm serious, Mickey. Don't do something you'll regret._

Of course Mandy would text him before she'd even left the house. Something he'd regret? Like what? He wasn't going to physically hurt the guy. He might spike his coffee, though. A car started out front and Mickey heard his sister pull away. With a sigh fit for a giant, Mickey stretched again and climbed out of bed, not bothering to put on any more clothes other than his boxers. It was fucking hot.

Quietly, he opened his door and was relieved to see Ian's still closed. He didn't think he could manage seeing him before he'd had a coffee and a smoke. Mickey crept downstairs and into the kitchen, ignoring the mental picture of Ian standing their the night before. He had to admit, he thought happily to himself, he knew how to make Ian tick. There was no doubting Ian struggled seeing him last night and it made Mickey feel smug to know he could still have that affect on him. He finished pouring his coffee and took it with him to the front step, thankful that the sun rose on the opposite side of the house.

He sat outside until there was only a drop left in his mug and he'd smoked at least three cigarettes. The sun was well and truly up now and the sounds of summer filtered through the air. Across the road, two kids played in their front yard, laughing at a joke that Mickey couldn't hear. They looked about Yev's age and he pulled his phone out to text Svetlana. He found himself looking forward to seeing Yev; nothing like a child's innocent smile to make you forget all of your troubles.

_How's Yev doing? Looking forward to the next visit. I'm in Chicago._

It was only a minute before she had replied; Mickey grinned at her English, still broken somewhat.

_He is always good but does not like clothes at the moment. Too hot. Why Chicago? You finally see orange boy?_

_Terry died._

_Fuck. How is sister?_

Nevermind Mickey, he thought grumpily. Before he had a chance to reply, another text came through.

_We come to Chicago. Visit orange boy and sister. And you?_

_I'll be here. When are you coming?_

_We'll get flight tonight and be there tomorrow. When is funeral?_

_Tomorrow morning, but you don't wanna come to that. See you tomorrow._

A noise behind him made him jump and he turned, already knowing it would be Ian. He should have shut the front door.

“Morning,” Mickey greeted, feeling as if they were in some sort of romantic comedy. Ian sat down silently next to Mickey, not saying a word but nodding in answer to his greeting. Mickey held out his pack of smokes and Ian took one with another nod of his head. Mickey pulled one out for himself, lighting it and taking a quick inhale before speaking. “How the fuck are you, Firecrotch?”

It cracked the tension between them like ice on a lake, and they both burst into laughter at the mention of Ian's old nickname. They laughed for a minute, taking relish in the easy mood until it subsided. Ian rubbed his eyes and took a long drag on his smoke, still laughing quietly to himself. “Firecrotch. I remember when you first called me that; you were hunting my ass down to beat the shit out of me.”

“Yeah? I don't remember it that way,” Mickey grinned, raising one eyebrow at Ian who was trying not to laugh as he sucked on his smoke. It felt like old times; smoke in their lungs, a shared smile between them.

“And what way would that be? You were hunting my ass down for a different reason?” It was a playful comment but it didn't take long for Mickey to mentally connect the dots from the moment they were talking about to all the others it had led to, good and bad. Ian didn't realise that Mickey had stopped grinning. “You were relentless, man. Before and after.”

“Yeah, well. When I wanted something, I usually got it, you know?” He said dryly, staring back out into the street. Seeing Ian laugh and be happy was one thing; reminiscing about old times was something he wasn't ready for. No way. “Well, how are you?”

“I'm good, man. Just busy working.”

“That's not what I meant, Ian,” Mickey looked at him again, locking eyes and waiting for an answer. “How's your health?”

Ian took three quick drags on his cigarette and stubbed it out with half left. He stood up abruptly and looked down at Mickey. “Good, like I said.” And with that, he turned and disappeared inside. A moment later, Mickey heard music start up. Shaking his head, he took his time to finish his own cigarette. So that was how it was going to be.

 

**

 

Of course Mickey would bring up his mental health. That's all Ian was to him, after all. A walking, talking case of bipolar that needed to be looked after and cared for. Let's just forget that Ian has obviously been fine for the last how long? He hasn't needed anyone to take care of him and he's hardly going to start now.

He busied himself in the kitchen making breakfast, pulling things out at random without a real plan in mind. He liked having the music on while he cooked; it helped keep his stress levels low, and he was certainly going to need it today. Before he knew it, he had bacon and eggs sizzling away, the smell wafting through the house. Ian hadn't planned on cooking for Mickey but he wasn't an asshole; he was hardly going to cook and eat in front of him.

When it was dished up on two plates, Ian took Mickey's portion out to where he still sat on the front step and gave it to him without a word. Mickey grunted a thanks and Ian turned back inside again.

“What, you're not going to join me?” The voice trailed in the house after Ian but he ignored it, gathering up his own plate and thumping down at the kitchen table in a huff. Moments later, Mickey joined him. “Are we ever going to talk?”

Ian swallowed the mouthful of hot food he'd shoved in to avoid talking and tried to ignore the burning in his mouth. Good fucking plan. Ian recognised the irony that he was now avoiding talking about his feelings and Mickey was doing the opening up. He kept his tone light and avoided Mickey's eye. “About what?”

In a way that would have been comical had the situation been different, Mickey stared at Ian, eyes wide, fork halfway to his mouth and scrambled eggs falling off the side of it. He lowered it slowly, an eyebrow raised. “I don't know, Ian. Where should we start? You breaking up with me for god knows what stupid reason? Sammi chasing me down with a fucking gun and getting me sent to prison? Or we could delve right into Operation Ignore Mickey While He's In Prison. Hey – just for kicks, let's start with why you told Mandy to keep her mouth shut about living with you, shall we?”

Both men had stopped eating, the food slowly going cold and the eggs congealing. It was maybe a minute of silence before Mickey shook his head and Ian snapped to attention, going through Mickey's verbal check-list. “You know why we broke up. Sammi wasn't my fault. I'm sure Mandy has told you why I didn't want you to know - ”

“I want to hear it again. Christ, Ian, I wasn't accusing you of having something to do with Sammi. But you didn't fucking bother to find out what happened to me! I could have been shot by that bitch. And as for Mandy, no, she hasn't,” Mickey spat. He hated how vulnerable he sounded and tried to inject more anger into his words. Ian didn't need to know he was hurting. “So fucking tell me.”

“I didn't need a nurse, Mickey!” Great, now Ian had moved on to emotional outbursts. He clenched and unclenched his fists furiously. “I didn't need you to pity me.”

“Pity you? That's what you thought I was doing? Are you fucking stupid?” Mickey laughed coldly and stood up, his good forgotten on the table as he started to pace back and forth in the small kitchen. “Pitying you. Wow. Okay.”

“Well, come on! Giving me my meds everyday, not letting me drink - ” Ian's voice broke for a second as memories of their last time together came flooding back. He hadn't let them for a long time and he pushed them aside now. “You felt compelled to stay with me. Admit it.”

Mickey stopped pacing and moved towards Ian, their faces inches from each other. Ian forced himself to maintain eye contact, ignoring the heat that rose within him at the sight of Mickey so close. Mickey's eyes flicked to Ian's lips and for a fleeting second, Ian thought Mickey might kiss him. They locked eyes again and all Ian could see was anger.

“Fuck you.”

There was such hate in the words that Ian couldn't move, rooted to the spot while Mickey stormed upstairs. He wasn't sure what to think, the argument rattling around in his brain and confusing how he felt about the entire situation. There was only one thing he knew for sure and that one thing was completely inappropriate considering what had just gone on between them.

Ian desperately wanted to kiss Mickey.

 

**

 

The bedroom door slammed behind him as Mickey flung himself on the bed, feeling every bit of himself almost vibrate with anger. Like some kind of sick movie, images began to flash in his mind. He saw Ian standing in his old bedroom all those years ago, the way Mickey had felt this pull towards him but hadn't been able to understand it. Their first time had been hard and fast, wrought with anger and mixed feelings, especially with knowing that Terry was in the next room. Mickey had hated himself afterwards but only because he'd enjoyed it so much.

Next he saw them lying side by side on a rooftop, more comfortable with each other now, though Mickey would never have admitted it. They'd snuck away from a neighbourhood party, the noise drifting up to meet them but they'd only had eyes for each other. Afterwards, lying there, it had been more important to Mickey than them actually fucking. Their hands grazed each other and Mickey had commented how cold his were. “Feel these fuckers,” he'd said gruffly and Ian had taken Mickey's hand into his own.

“Your circulation must be shit,” Mickey had sworn at him, but Ian hadn't dropped his hand and Mickey hasn't wanted him to.

Cut forward to their domestic years, looking after Yev. Memories tainted with the beginnings of Ian's bipolar, the beginning of their end, but there were good times. Mickey remembered the night Svetlana had a job to go to - “Money is good,” - and she'd left Yev with Mickey and Ian who were in for the night. The kid was growing on Mickey, much as he had despised him in the beginning, and the three of them had shared dinner together. There was a moment when Yev had babbled nonsense before collapsing into giggles at his own joke. Ian had caught Mickey's eye with a grin on his face. That was how Mickey had liked to remember Ian. With a smile on his face. It was a normal evening cut right out of someone else's life.

Now, lying on the bed in Ian's house listening to the music thumping through the floor and hearing pots and pans being banged about, Mickey couldn't believe that Ian would actually think those things of him. That he pitied him? Was he a fucking idiot? Mickey wished he'd gotten angrier at Ian, lost his shit just a little bit more. Maybe it would have pulled more out of Ian but even then, Mickey had to leave or he might have punched him. What did Ian want Mickey to say? That he was fine? That it was Ian's loss? It was never boring between them, it was never some dumb high school romance. It was fucking more than that and it deserved more than that.

The music cut off abruptly and there was a slam; Mickey jumped up and looked out the window to see Ian pushing out the front gate and turning to walk off down the road. Mickey gritted his teeth. “Of course you'd fucking run away.”

 

**

 

When he'd stormed out the front door and took off down the road, Ian had no plan in mind as to where he was going. He simply walked, his feet pounding the pavement as he took in the sights of his neighbourhood. Something about the south side settled him, which was ironic considering it was the place of so many bad memories. Maybe it was just that he felt safe here; it was a bad neighbourhood, but it was his bad neighbourhood. Plus, now that the Milkoviches were either dead or run out of town, it was a lot safer. 

Apart from the Milkovich in his house, of course. That particular one was causing him a lot of problems, lately. Ian had always been the emotional one in their relationship, even going as far to be angry at Mickey for _not_ expressing how he felt. Now, however, Ian was doing his best to bottle it all up, knowing full well that it was a bad idea. He didn't want to think about how Mickey made him feel guilty and angry all at once, nor did he want to think about how he thought he'd grown, gotten over Mickey and yet seeing him in his boxers this morning brought up uncomfortable feelings in him.

It was too late, though. Everything came rushing back as he pictured Mickey in his mind, standing at the gate to his old home, telling Ian he loved him. The most unfair thing in Ian's eyes was that if that had happened now, Ian would welcome it. Those words...Mickey had struggled for so long and for Ian to treat him the way he had – it wasn't fair. In saying that, Ian thought as he rounded another corner, still no destination in mind, Ian wasn't really in his right mind back then. He was still denying his diagnosis, still desperate to cling on to the idea that he didn't need medication. These days, he was on his meds and his moods were pretty regular; he was a lot happier.

It was a mess, in every sense of the word. Ian hated the pain he could see in Mickey's eyes but there was nothing he could do about it, now. He'd stormed upstairs and Ian had stormed out of the house. What a pair of fucking idiots they were.

Without really realising it, Ian found himself in front of his old house. It looked no different, just a little older. A year ago, Fiona and Gus had finally had a proper wedding, their relationship a lot stronger than it had been in the beginning. They'd held it in the backyard, Debbie having a field day decorating it as best she could. As a surprise, Ian had organised to have someone repaint the house; it took on a fresh new life and Fiona had loved it. Looking up at it now, Ian wondered how he'd ever been unhappy here. It was his home.

“Fiona?” He called as he stepped through the front door, closing it softly behind him. He moved into the lounge and found Fiona vacuuming with her headphones in, singing loudly to an unknown song. His sister jumped in surprise at the sight of him. He held his hands up and took a few steps towards her. “Sorry!”

“Ian – you gave me a fright,” She gasped when the vacuum had turned off completely and she'd taken her headphone off. She smiled anyway, pulling him in for a hug and rubbing his back briefly. “Everythin' okay?”

“Do I need an excuse to visit my sister?” Ian charmed and Fiona rolled her eyes. “You got coffee?”

Five minutes later, they found themselves sitting out the back in the sun. Ian was unsure why he asked for coffee in this heat but he appreciated the taste of it. He lit up a cigarette and ignored the look of disgust on Fiona's face. They didn't speak at first, merely enjoying the sounds of summer and the company. Ian didn't last long, though.

“Mickey's back in town.”

Fiona snapped her head towards him and narrowed her eyes slightly. “Shit. Ian. Fuck.”

Ian laughed at her reaction, breathing smoke out of his lungs. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Have you seen him?” She asked, sipping her coffee and continuing to watch him.

“He's staying at the house with me and Mandy,” Ian explained and Fiona groaned lightly next to him. “It's like the fucking Brady bunch or something over there.”

“Christ. Well, have you guys talked at all?”

“Yeah. If by talking you mean fighting, yeah,” Ian nestled his mug on the grass underneath his chair and rubbed his free hand over his face. “He wanted to talk but I kind of just blew up in his face. He was pretty pissed.”

“I'm not surprised; you guys have a lot of history, Ian,” Fiona stated dumbly, rolling her eyes at her own obvious comment. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“That's just it, though; I have no fucking idea.” Frustrated, Ian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, taking another drag on his cigarette. “We hardly left things on the best terms back then but I didn't expect him to be this mad. He hates me.”

Fiona looked at Ian carefully, weighing up her words as she swallowed some more coffee. “I know you were in a tough place back then, Ian. We _all_ knew that, especially Mickey. Finding out you're stuck with some genetic asshole of a disorder would knock the best of them. You took it pretty well, really,” Ian shook his head, not wanting to think about how hard it had been when he'd been diagnosed. “But Mickey...he'd never been around anythin' like this before. He didn't grow up with Monica.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Mickey took it just as hard as you did. One of the worst things about mental illness is that it doesn't just affect one person; it affects everyone who cares about you, too. And Mickey cares about you.” She stopped and bit her lip, clearly wanting to say more but she held her tongue.

“ _Cared,_ ” Ian scoffed, correcting his sister and downing the last of his drink, despite the temperature of the liquid. 

“I don't know about that. Just...try to put yourself in his shoes. He went through a lot with you, and for you, too.”

“It sounds as if you're siding with him,” Ian said unfairly and he knew it. Sullenly, he apologised.

Fiona finished the last of her coffee and stood up. “I'm not sidin' with anyone, Ian. I just don't want you to make a mistake.”

Ian stayed sitting as Fiona disappeared inside and he mulled over her words. Make a mistake with what? He'd already fucked up and made himself look like an asshole. Shit, maybe he was an asshole. He certainly felt like one. He'd felt a right to be self-centred when it came to his bipolar, and for the most part he was right to; it was important that he look after himself. But...Mickey was Mickey. He had treated him horribly and it was as if that had only dawned on him now, sitting in his old backyard. Shit.

 

**

 

By the time the afternoon rolled around, Mickey had walked almost every inch of the house. Almost. He'd looked in cupboards, closets and cabinets. He wasn't up to anything; it was more that he was bored as fuck and didn't feel up to exploring his old neighbourhood just yet. He'd slept after lunch but now he was on a mission to know every part of the house Ian lived in. Fuck knows why. The only room left was Ian's and he'd saved it for last on purpose. Now, he may have changed from the thug he used to be, but just like the tattoos on his knuckles, some things don't fade and he wouldn't deny the fact that Ian's room intrigued him a little bit. Maybe this was the something he'd regret that Mandy was talking about? Ensuring the front door was shut – giving him some warning if he heard it open – Mickey pushed open the door to the bedroom opposite his and was all of a sudden hit with a wave of nostalgia.

Ian still used the same deodorant. Mickey had always loved the way Ian had smelled, breathing him in when they'd been in bed together. There'd been times when he'd worn one of Ian's shirts and hadn't bothered to wash it – it smelled too good. Before Mickey had come out and they'd been meeting in secret, he sometimes wore Ian's deodorant just to have the smell with him when they were apart. He scoffed to himself and pushed the memory aside. Mickey moved further into the room, enjoying the scent despite the memories it dug up. The bed was unmade and it was all Mickey could do to not crawl into it.

It was a simple bedroom – furniture was sparse and Mickey found that it mirrored his own back home. Bed, bedside table, drawers, a lamp and an armchair – the latter was covered in washing, just as Mickey's was in his own bedroom. Coloured pencils and notebooks lined the drawers and Mickey was drawn to them, curious.

As he got closer, he recognised the cover of one and realised it was the notebook from Ian's manic days, full of ideas that mostly didn't make any sense. One jumped out at Mickey and sent a twinge through his chest.

*   
_Run away to Vegas with Mickey and get married._   


The feeling tightened and he put the notebook back, not wanting to read any more. Another notebook caught his eye. It was newer, but obviously well used; random pieces of paper stuck out at odd ends and there was a pencil being used as a bookmark. Mickey opened it, careful not to dislodge any of the loose pieces. He gasped softly at what he found.

His own eyes stared back up at him, vivid in colour and incredibly detailed. Ian had always mentioned that he had liked to draw, but this was something else altogether. Ignoring the fact that his own face was sitting on the page, Mickey flicked through the page. The majority of the pictures were of nature scenes, some buildings; he recognised the dug outs and his own house before it clicked. These were all pictures that had something to do with him and Ian. They all had sentimental meaning to Ian.

There were dates on each of the pictures and glancing quickly, Mickey realised these drawings started only a month or so ago – long before his dad had died and Ian would have learnt that Mickey was coming. He moved quickly now, inspecting the other notebooks only to realise that they too were full of drawings of meaningful places, and these dated back even further. Whatever Ian had to say about him, it was clear that the redhead still thought of him, and often. The most recent drawing, the one of Mickey's face, was dated the day Terry died.

“Mick? Ian? Anyone home? Have you killed each other yet?”

Mandy's voice sent him jumping a foot in the air and as quickly as he could he put the notebooks back as he had found them, backing out of the room with one last sniff of Ian's smell. 

“Coming!” Mickey called down hurriedly, choosing to ignore the feeling in his gut. He needed to talk to Ian again, regardless of what he wanted, and it was not going to happen with Mandy in the house. Tomorrow was the funeral but after that, maybe. He wasn't planning on leaving so soon any more. They needed to talk and it was going to happen, Mickey was sure of it.


	4. Sleep in The Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don't be checking out my ass, Gallagher.”

Dinner that evening was a quiet affair. Mandy had brought home pasta from the restaurant she worked at while she was studying for her GED, and Ian arrived home not long after that. He'd caught Mickey's eye as soon as he'd walked in the door, but dropped his gaze almost immediately. Mandy stood awkwardly between them.

“Let's just eat, yeah?” She said carefully, well aware of the tension in the room. Putting plates and cutlery on the table, she helped herself to the lasagne that she'd been given at work. Ian moved into the kitchen, commenting on how good it smelled, and followed suit, with Mickey coming in behind them. When they were all seated and eating, Mandy snorted into her plate. “Well, this is fucking awkward.”

“You could say that, sis,” Mickey said bluntly, his tone indicating that he was still mad at her for keeping Ian's secret. Ian didn't say a word, keeping his eyes down and eating. He wasn't about to get into anything at the dinner table. Mickey sighed across from him and looked at his sister. “Where are you working now?”

“A place called Jac's, it's a new restaurant and bar. It's a nice place and they pay well. Plus they let me take time off when I need it to study.”

“The job has its perks then,” Mickey commented, gesturing to the meal in front of them and Ian grinned.

“It certainly helps when you're more than friendly with the head chef,” He quipped and Mandy shot him a look.

“Not another Kenyatta,” Mickey groaned tiredly and Ian felt slightly annoyed for Mandy; she had changed since then.

“No, actually. Her name is Josie and she's actually really nice. She's the reason for your dinner, so shut your face and eat your food.” Mickey stared at his sister before laughing into his meal.

“Terry would have a fucking field day,” He laughed and Mandy joined in. Ian could tell she was pleased Mickey wasn't making fun of her, not that she couldn't handle him.

“Oh yeah, I can really see him joining PFLAG,” Ian added and the three of them laughed some more at the thought of Terry joining a support group. Mickey's smile slowly faded and Ian felt the tension come creeping back to the room. They ate on, picking at their food and attempting to ignore the white elephant in the room. Mickey finished in record time and stood up, taking his dishes to the sink. 

“Svetlana and Yev are coming through tomorrow. She text me just before dinner; they're on the plane already.”

“Really?” Ian asked as he finished his plate, looking over and Mickey had to acknowledge him, leaning against the kitchen bench. “Isn't it only like a 2 hour flight?”

“It was last minute and cheap, so they stop in about three different places and land here tomorrow morning.” Christ, Ian thought. The tension in the room felt like it was stretching, moments away from breaking. Ian forced himself to look at Mickey as he listened. Mandy finished eating in silence, watching the interaction. “Mandy said they could stay here, have my room. That okay with you?”

“Of course.” Why did his voice sound so stiff?

“Great.” A silence lulled over the room again. “I think I might go smoke out front.” Mickey walked out roughly, not waiting for a reply and disappeared through towards the front door. Ian let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

“Seriously Ian? Come on!” Mandy sounded exasperated and rolled her eyes at him as she cleared her own dishes away now. “Did you guys even talk today?”

“Not really, no,” He said carefully, picking at the scraps on his plate. He put his fork down noisily and fixed Mandy with a stare. “I don't know what to say, okay?!”

“Hey, don't lose your shit at me. This has nothing to do with me.” Her phone buzzed on the table and she picked it up, not looking at it yet and instead fixing Ian with a cold stare. Shit, she could be scary when she wanted to be.

“Technically, it kind of does because you kept my secret.”

“Bullshit. I was doing you a favour but that was it; whatever is going on with you two has nothing to do with me any more.” She checked her phone now, a small smile crossing her lips and Ian knew it was Josie. In an instant, she'd switched back to a hard look and flounced out of the room.

“Jesus, what is with this house?” Ian let out angrily, not enjoying being on the receiving end of the Milkovich temper for the second time that day. Not fun at all. He stood up from the table, leaving his empty plate behind and walked out to the front door. Hit with a sense of deja vu, he took a breath and opened the door to talk to Mickey.

 

**

 

“We talking now?” Mickey asked as Ian plopped down next to him. He pulled a cigarette out and offered one to Ian who declined. He threw the packed down and put the cigarette in his mouth to light it. Mickey spoke again, his words muffed. “Did you give up in the last few hours?”

Ian laughed lightly. “No, but Fi is desperate for me to. She gave up awhile ago.”

“Huh.” No way was he making this easy on Ian. Mickey sat quietly and waited for him to talk.

“Mickey...” Ian faltered, obviously thinking about what he was trying to say. “I don't – I think - ”

“You're pretty shit at this, aren't you? I thought I was supposed to be the one who sucked at words?” He raised an eyebrow and flicked his thumb over his bottom lip. Ian's eyes followed the movement and Mickey fought off a smirk.

Ian grabbed a cigarette from the packet on the step, rethinking his decision. He lit it and sucked in, still working out what to say. Ian let out a long breath. “I'm sorry about this morning.”

“This morning?” Mickey pulled a face, pretending to think, the sarcasm practically dripping from his voice. “Oh _yeah_ , this _morning!_ ”

“Don't be a dick.”

“You mean like you were, dick?” Mickey grinned to himself and Ian visibly relaxed slightly. “I get it, man.”

“How are you feeling about your dad?” Ian asked, changing the subject before Mickey could continue. The change of topic was welcome though as Mickey realised he hadn't properly thought about why he was even back in Chicago yet. “It must be weird. I know it felt strange when Frank went.”

“Shit, when did that happen?” Ian took a long drag on his cigarette and breathed it out slowly. Mickey waited for him to answer and took a small pleasure in watching Ian's face as he clearly enjoyed the cigarette.

“Last year. I don't know...I hated the guy. He was an asshole and treated us all like shit, and he wasn't even my biological father. I don't know. It was a weird time,” Ian explained, his eyes flickering up to meet Mickey's and then deciding differently, turning to look out at the street. “I have to admit, I'm not sad at all Terry's gone.”

“That makes two of us,” Mickey snorted. “The guy was a fucking prick. What is it with the south side and shitty dads?”

Ian laughed loudly. “Something in the water?”

“Fuck off, I turned out okay!” Mickey protested and Ian looked at him, curious. “Svet lives with her girlfriend in New York with Yev, but I see him at least once a month, sometimes more. There's no way I'm in the running for world's best fuckin' father or anything, though.” Ian was quiet and something clicked in Mickey's brain. “You see them, too, don't you?”

“Not that often. We text each other every now and then, but I haven't seen them for about 6 months when Mandy and I took a trip to New York.” Ian answered, his head down. Mickey felt that he probably talked to Svetlana a lot more than he was letting on. Mickey cut him off before he could even finish his apology. “I'm sorry I - ”

“Don't. I get it.”

“I didn't want you to have me as a burden,” Ian blurted out, distracting himself with another pull on his cigarette as Mickey gaped at him, his eyes wide. He almost seemed surprised at the words that had come out of his own mouth.

“Burden?” He said incredulously. As much as he tried to ignore it, Mickey felt the familiar pull of anger welling up inside him. “The fuck, Ian?”

“I didn't want you to be stuck looking after me forever. Not even forever – just...for the time being. Or something.” He fumbled over his words and Mickey almost felt sorry for the guy; he clearly didn't know how to say what he was feeling.

“I can't believe that, to be really fucking honest. I've always been on your side, long before any shit went down. I'm not sorry for wanting to help you. I don't think I could have got much clearer about why I wanted to look after you,” He wasn't going to say those three words, not again. No fucking way. The last time he said them, look what had happened.

“But that's just it – I didn't need someone to look after me!”

“Fine, wrong choice of words but come on, man.” Mickey shook his head as he finished his cigarette but didn't move from the step. Ian finished his a moment later and Mickey could feel Ian looking at him.

“You never told me how you feel about your dad,” Ian said quietly and Mickey sighed at the change of subject again. Ian had this perfect talent of moving the conversation on to the point where you almost forgot what you were talking about to begin with.

“I have no fucking idea.” Mickey stated bluntly but it was true; he felt like he should be sad about it, but if he really thought about his dad, all he felt was anger. “I hate the fucker, but I think Mandy wants me to go. She should hate him even more than I do, though, which is fucked up. Did you go to Frank's funeral?”

“Yeah, Fi made us.” When Mickey raised an eyebrow, he elaborated. “She said it would give us closure. We sat in the back, nothing special.”

“And did it? Give you closure, I mean.”

“Not really, but I didn't feel like I needed to get closure. It was more for Carl and Debbie; I said goodbye to him years ago.” Ian said honestly and Mickey wished, not for the first time, that they'd all grown up in a different place, with stable homes and parents that weren't abusive alcoholics.

“Mandy said Uncle Ronnie wanted to know if we'd speak at the funeral. No fucking way – can you imagine what I'd even say?” Mickey let out a harsh laugh. “Something like 'Terry Milkovich; loving father, long will you be missed.' Get fucked.”

They were silent for a moment, each lost in a different train of thought. The sun had almost set and it cast a pinkish glow across the sky, the effect a photographer's dream. Mickey stared up at the sky, breathing slowly. Despite the anger he still felt towards Ian, the things they needed to talk about, he felt a sense of calm sitting next to him in silence. It was funny how being back with a person who means so much to you can feel like you've never been apart. Fuck. Mickey shook his head and glanced surreptitiously at Ian. He was looking away, staring down the opposite end of the street and Mickey felt a twitch in his hand, wanting to reach out for Ian's. He held back. Clearing his throat, he spoke.

“You seeing anyone?” _Please say no. Please say no._

Ian's head whipped round, a strange look on his face. “No,” A shot of happiness burst through Mickey but he kept his face calm. “Are you?”

“Uh, that would be a no,” Was he going to admit that there hadn't been anyone since Ian? If you call the odd fuck in an alley someone, maybe, but nothing serious. Fuck it. “I haven't been with anyone properly since you.”

The air between them had changed slightly; Mickey was being more open than he'd ever been with anyone, even Ian. It wasn't someone Ian was used to seeing and that much was clear from his expression. Mickey pressed on. “I kinda didn't wanna get into anything else after you. It's not the same without you.”

“I get it.” Ian said simply. Mickey felt the question on the tip of his tongue but Ian answered it before he could even speak. “Me too.”

Mickey looked at him carefully, the pair locking eyes properly and holding it. The moment was brimming with something akin to excitement and Mickey wasn't sure what to say next. He felt as if they were on the edge of something but at that exact moment, Mandy opened the front door. _Fuck fucking fuck._

 

**

 

Of course, just as Ian had worked up the guts to say something more, maybe even lean into Mickey – god knows he wanted to – Mandy _had_ to come out. Fucking Milkoviches and their timing. Both Mickey and Ian jumped around at the sudden intrusion and Ian flicked Mandy a glare.

“Dessert's inside if you want it, shitheads,” She said happily – no doubt a text or two from Josie had given her that smile – and Mickey laughed next to Ian. Mandy disappeared inside again and Ian looked back out to the street. The moment was gone.

“You up for something sweet?” Mickey asked, his eyes glittering and Ian tried to ignore the sensations it brought up within him. The pair stood up and Ian let Mickey go first as they moved inside. Just as they crossed the threshold, Mickey stopped so suddenly that Ian almost knocked into him. He turned, his face close to Ian's as he grinned. “Don't be checking out my ass, Gallagher.”

Who the fuck was this guy? This was not the Mickey he remembered but fuck, did he like it. They had so much to catch up on, but all Ian could think about was how much he wanted to check out Mickey's ass. The blue eyed fuck clearly knew what affect he had on Ian and Ian hated it. The trio ate dessert in front of the TV, some mindless cartoon playing that Mandy laughed at every few seconds but all Ian could do was watch Mickey eat as if he was putting on a show. He was eating fucking ice cream and Ian was getting turned on. Christ.

“I'm gonna head to bed,” Ian said suddenly, standing up and taking his empty bowl into the kitchen. He heard Mickey snort and hated even more how much he rattled him. He muttered a goodnight and ignored Mandy's bewildered face as he rushed upstairs.

“Up at seven!” She called out behind him and he made a noise of agreement. Inside his bedroom finally, he closed the door and sighed to himself. Fuck.

Ian picked up his notebook and rummaged around for his favourite pencil before settling on the bed with both. Opening it up to a new page, he put his pencil to the paper and started moving it, not really thinking about what he was drawing. As usual, a picture began to form. For someone who refused to actively think about the past – fuck, one part of his past in particular – he sure did draw it a lot. It always seemed to calm him down, though. He'd always enjoyed putting a pencil to paper and drawing whatever came to mind; he used to do it a lot in the waiting room of the clinic when waiting for a refill of his meds. Fiona found his notebook once and the next day had bought him five new ones plus a bunch of pens and pencils. From then onwards, he'd taken it more seriously.

It didn't faze him that all of his drawings had something to do with Mickey; he drew what he felt and he figured it was his feelings coming out when he didn't really talk about them. Now, he looked carefully and realised he was drawing Mickey again, the familiar shape of his face already recognisable. Ian let his mind wander to how he'd felt downstairs, curious as to how much it had annoyed him.

He was surprised at Mickey's comment when they'd been walking inside; Mickey had gone from someone completely unwilling to show any affection to someone who had came out in the middle of a bar. This was different, though. He had so much confidence; he knew what he could do to Ian, and Christ, Ian wanted him to do something. Still, he felt like it would be unfair to even try and start something. What if Mickey didn't want to go there, and was merely teasing Ian? No doubt he was still pretty mad at Ian, and they had things that needed to be talked about. The Mickey that had been so open on the front step was not the same person he'd once known, but the change was welcome. Now Ian had to work on opening up himself.

The picture was clearer now; Ian worked quickly to finish both eyes so that he could stare down at the paper. It was a younger Mickey, he now realised, and it reminded him of the sly smile he would get on his face when he came into the Kash and Grab, that knowing look of what was to come. How had they got to this point? A childish wish overcame him – to turn back time, go back to how it had been before everything had turned to shit. Feelings flooded him and before he knew it, a tear fell onto the page and smudged the drawing. 

How stupid had he fucking been? Mickey went through it all with him; being diagnosed, dealing with his mania. He didn't even bolt when he took his fucking baby on a road trip. He did everything he could to help Ian through the toughest time in his life and how the fuck does Ian repay him? Fuck.

Ian pushed the unfinished drawing aside and sat up straight on his bed, half ready to go down and talk to Mickey now but he stopped himself. It was the day before Terry's funeral and they'd already had a pretty intense day. Now was not the time for late night confessions and tears. He relaxed again on the bed and pulled the notebook back towards him. A small smile crossed his lips and he kept drawing. It calmed him, it always did. As he was finishing the small lines around Mickey's eyes, he stopped, listening once again to the footsteps in the hall. A small knock on the door set his heart fluttering. _Get a grip._

“Yeah?” Attempting to sound casual came out more like an animal being strangled but he went with it. “Come in.”

The door pushed open slowly but for the second time that day, Mandy came through a door at the wrong time. Ian tried to hide his disappointment.

“Hey, sorry to bother you. I just wanted to make sure you heard me before. Mickey wants to pick up Svet from the airport before we go, too.” Ian nodded but she continued. “Do you – uh, did I tell you where it's being held?”

“No?”

“Well, there's nobody and like fuck were we having a funeral in a church. Uncle Ronnie organised a wake of sorts.”

“Where is it being held?” Ian asked and Mandy bit her lip sharply. 

“The same place Mickey and Svetlana got married.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Mandy took a step into the room, as if to comfort her friend but Ian shook his head. “I'm okay. It'll be weird, though.”

“You're telling me. Did you talk to Mickey some more?”

“Yeah, we talked a bit. I'd rather not about talk now, though. Tired, you know.” Mandy smiled and stepped out of the room, muttering a goodnight as she went.

If things weren't weird enough between him and Mickey, not they were attending a wake for his abusive father in the same place that Mickey had been forced to marry someone he had been forced to fuck and the irony was not lost on Ian. How fucking fun this was going to be, especially now that Svetlana was coming, too. He wondered how Mickey felt about it all.

Ian sighed to himself; the realisation slowly dawned on him that even though he had flat out refused to talk about Mickey, think about him, ask about him, write to him or see him...nothing had fucking changed. The reality of that hit him hard and he sat back, staring at his closed door. He had anticipated seeing Mickey and how hard it would be, that it would bring up everything that had gone on between them. He'd slept with people since Mickey – more often than not they were men from The Court or any of the other gay bars he would visit – but they were never more than one or two night stands. He'd dated the odd guy for a week or two but there was always something off about them; something just didn't click and Ian always ended it. They meant nothing but he'd always thought of himself as being over Mickey. It'd been hard in the beginning to not contact him, especially once his meds had evened out and he felt a lot better day to day.

He'd felt safe on his own where he could protect himself from anything that might make him feel something he didn't want to. He sped through moments, looked forward to sleeping, to say that he'd got through another day. All it took was one visit from Mickey and his walls crumbled, time slowed down and he appreciated every single second of it, even if he didn't like to admit it. The difference in how he'd made himself feel, forgetting everything Mickey meant to him, to how he felt now was staggering; Ian wasn't sure how he'd ever let himself get so numb in the first place.

But now...now he didn't know what to think. And what the fuck would Mickey think? 'Hey, I fucked you over and ignored you for years, and now I've decided I want you back'? Christ. Is that what he wanted? In a moment, Ian realised that it was. He was never going to let this go; Mickey had burrowed his way into Ian's heart and there was no way Ian was getting rid of him now. Ian had let him down in the worst way but he now felt like he was ready; maybe it took him being on his own for awhile to figure out what the fuck he was doing. Maybe it took seeing Mickey's smart ass face and hearing his voice and desperately wanting more from him – fuck. There were so many words he wish he could rewind and take back, but Mickey was here, and if Ian's hunch was right...Mickey would forgive him. 

A buzz shook him from his thoughts and he picked up his phone. Mickey.

_Are you awake?_

It was nearing midnight but Ian sent back a quick reply. Moments later, his phone buzzed again.

_Will you lie with me?_

To say that he got out of bed fast would be an understatement; Ian was up faster than the speed of light and out the door in a flash; he took a moment outside Mickey's door before knocking softly and stepping in quietly as if he hadn't just bolted from his own bed. The room was silent and Ian could just see his figure in the bed. Silently, he shut the door behind him and moved into the room, crawling into bed next to Mickey. For a moment, they lay apart and the only sound that filled the room was their breathing.

“My hands are freezing,” Mickey said into the darkness and Ian couldn't help but smile at what Mickey was doing, his own mind going back to that night on the rooftop years ago. “Feel these fuckers.”

They turned in bed so they were facing each other and Ian took Mickey's hands in his own. “Wow, you must have shit circulation.”

Ian could hear the smile in Mickey's voice. “Fuck off, Firecrotch.”


	5. Shrink The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yev isn't even here to be encouraged, fuck face.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! 215 is my roller derby number.

_Fuck_.

Mickey was awake long before his alarm sounded. It could have been because he was a morning person and woke each day at the crack of dawn for a run (yeah fucking right), or maybe because it was the morning of his dad's funeral. Or it could been the long, muscular – and so full of freckles – arm draping over his stomach as he lay in bed. Any reason would do, really.

He'd text Ian in a moment of weakness last night; he wasn't really sure why he did it, only that he didn't want to spend the night before the funeral alone and he was hardly going to get girly with Mandy. They didn't do anything except hold hands – Mickey was guilty on that part. He couldn't have Ian in his bed and not have some form of contact. But they didn't fuck, and they didn't even talk; just drifted off to sleep holding hands.

There was a moment in the middle of the night, though. Mickey had rolled over to face away from Ian, awake but in that half asleep state where you could say something and have it sound totally normal in your head, only to wake up in the morning and find out you were blabbering on about turtles eating French toast. Ian had moved with him, his arm sleepily rubbing Mickey's own, his head nuzzled into the back of Mickey's neck. Just as Mickey had felt himself starting to drift back off to sleep, Ian had pressed his lips to Mickey's skin. The contact had sent tingles up and down his spine, and in his drowsiness, Mickey may or may not have mumbled three words. Now, in the light of the early morning, Mickey was starting to regret texting Ian in the first place.

_Fucking fuck._

Slowly, remembering how deeply Ian could sleep, Mickey picked Ian's arm off him and moved away. He froze as Ian mumbled in his sleep and readjusted himself but thankfully he stayed asleep. Mickey crept out of bed, pausing to look down at Ian's sleeping form, a fondness creeping over him at the sight. He had always enjoyed watching Ian sleep; when they had been together, it had been hard for Mickey to truly show how he felt without feeling embarrassed. When Ian was asleep, however, he could show his feelings all he liked.

_Fuck it._

He left his phone next to Ian on the bed; at least the alarm would wake someone up that morning. He slipped out of the bedroom and tried to ignore the walk of shame feeling as he closed the door behind him. Mickey stopped as Mandy stood at the end of the hallway in the doorway to the bathroom; she somehow managed to look smug with one hand on her hip and the other holding a toothbrush in her mouth.

“Fucking what, Mandy?” Mickey demanding, challenging her to say something but she shrugged, oblivious to the toothpaste foam slowly dripping down her chin, and moved back into the bathroom. “That's what I thought,” He said stupidly and he heard Mandy snort.

Why was he mad at himself, really? If he was honest, he'd wanted this from the beginning. Hell, he'd never stopped wanting it. Thumping noisily down the stairs, he fixed himself some breakfast and ate moodily, listening for the sounds of someone coming down the stairs. Footsteps descended and he held his breath before Mandy came in, a smirk still playing on her lips.

“We gonna talk about that?” She asked playfully as she got herself some cereal. Mickey ignored her, brooding quietly. She sat down at the table. “Okay. Alright.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Hey, I didn't say anything,” She retorted, throwing her hands in the air before fiddling with her spoon and eyeing her brother. Mickey could already see the question forming in her eyes as they twinkled mischeviously. “Did you fuck him?”

“Mandy!”

Mickey glared at her and her smug face – a Milkovich trait – but a moment later his heart flipped as he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Mandy burst into laughter at Mickey's face and he flipped her off angrily. Ian stepped into the room already dressed in his suit and looking dapper as fuck. He avoided Mickey's eye and the latter was glad for it. When in the fuck did he become a teenage girl lusting after some guy?

“Morning, Ian!” Mandy said brightly and Mickey wanted to vanish through the floor. “Sleep okay?”

Could she get any more annoying? Ian's eyes flicked to Mickey who rolled his own and went back to eating his breakfast. It was an awkward affair, perhaps more awkward than dinner the night before. Everything felt awkward in this fucking house.

“I slept fine, Mandy, thank you.” Ian replied politely as he sat down with his breakfast, playing along. It only irked Mickey more. “And how did you sleep, ma'am?”

“Oh, not too bad, you know. It was lonely in my bed, though.” She paused a second, laughing lightly as Mickey braced himself for the next round of annoying little sister. “Mickey? Were you lonely last night?”

“Jesus fucking christ, Mandy!” Mickey exploded, standing up and sending his chair spinning behind him. Mandy laughed even harder, holding her hands to her sides as if it physically pained her to laugh at Mickey. “Ian slept in my bed last night. Is that okay with you? Did I forget to get your written permission?”

Mandy didn't answer, but continued to laugh and Mickey saw Ian smirking, too. He muttered to himself like a grumpy old man as he walked out of the kitchen and upstairs. All he did in this house was storm from room to room.

_Fucking fuck fuck fuck._

 

**

 

As confused as Ian was about what had gone on last night – nothing much of anything, but everything at the same time - he had to admit that seeing Mickey storm out of the kitchen after his sister had teased him was a little bit funny, even if Mickey didn't think so. Maybe Ian was used to ruthless teasing considering he was closer to his siblings, but either way, he'd had to fight off a laugh every time he caught sight of Mickey for the rest of the morning.

Without any further funny-but-not-funny incidents, the mood slowly turned sombre as the funeral loomed closer. The three of them stood in the lounge dressed in black, Mickey studiously avoiding Ian's eye which gave Ian the perfect chance to check him out because fuck – he looked as good as ever. Mickey checked a text on his phone and then looked up at them.

“It's not going to be over any sooner if we just fucking stand here. Let's go get Svetlana and Yev.”

They stepped out into the sunlight and already it was uncomfortably warm in their suits. Ian felt a bead of sweat form at the top of his spine and he shifted around in his jacket. They headed towards Mandy's car and Mickey gestured for Ian to take the front seat with a grunt.

“Thanks.”

“Fuck, it's hot as balls. Sums Terry up though, doesn't it?” Mickey commented as he climbed into the back and immediately rolled his window down.

“What? How?” Mandy questioned, starting the car. They pulled away from the kerb and they were all grateful for the breeze generated by the moving car, still slightly cool in the early morning despite the sun.

“Selfish prick was always thinking of himself, wasn't he? He couldn't have died in a cooler month?”

Ian laughed loudly at the joke and he was glad he couldn't see Mickey's face. He thought of their hands twisted together the night before and felt a blush creep onto his face. “Hey, this would suck just as much in the winter.”

Silence fell as Mandy drove, the radio on quietly in the background. A voice told them of traffic in the city, more sun on the way, and something scandalous a celebrity had done. Ian tuned out, anticipating the meeting with Svetlana. They had always gotten on well – especially after Ian had finally accepted his diagnosis and started taking his meds properly. It had been a long time since he'd seen Svetlana with Mickey, though, and he wondered what kind of father he was to Yevgeny. 

Yev had been a quiet baby, and it had taken a long time before he started talking properly; growing up in the Milkovich household will do that to you, Ian was sure. But every time Ian had seen Yev since their move to New York, the child just continued to get better and better. He was a chatterbox, he loved learning and was always asking questions – even if he didn't quite understand what he was asking. Yev had grown into a loving child that Svetlana was proud of, which in turn made Ian happy. They both deserved a lot more than they'd gotten in the past.

“So, Josie.” Mickey stated from the back and Ian glanced at Mandy, watching her reaction. She'd mentioned Josie a few months ago in passing but Ian had picked up on something straight away; there'd been something in her smile, and the way her eyes lit up slightly when she talked about her. It had been how Ian had felt when he first properly met Mickey. A month after that, Mandy and Josie had started hanging out a lot more and Josie would occasionally stay the night. Now, Ian wondered to himself, Josie seemed like such a fixture in Mandy's life that she might even make an appearance at the funeral-turned-wake.

“Josie.” Mandy replied tightly, her eyes on the road in front of her.

“Hey, I'm not teasing.” Mickey said, as if he would _ever_ tease his sister. “What's she like?”

“She's...really great. Really. You'll meet her today, I think.” Mandy told them, confirming what Ian had been thinking a moment earlier. Mandy almost glowed when she talked about Josie and Ian smiled at his friend. “She wants to meet you.”

“Yeah? I'll give her the big brother talk,” He joked and Mandy flipped him off without even turning away from the steering wheel as they weaved through the traffic. He huffed to himself before speaking again, this time to Ian. “How long did you say since you've seen Svetlana, Gallagher?”

“About 6 months. Mandy and I took a trip there after I got a Christmas bonus. We stayed with them for a week,” Ian said carefully, not wanting to start an argument. “Yev is getting so big.”

Something changed in Mickey at that comment, someone Ian wasn't sure he'd ever see in Mickey; a proud dad. Ian watched him in the side mirror, unable to read his expression clearly but Mickey was smiling. After the way Yevgeny had been brought into Mickey's life, Ian wasn't sure Mickey would ever accept it. It seems he had.

“I saw him a few weeks ago; he drew me a picture of someone with red hair. Svetlana told me it was a friend from his play group – it was probably you, right?” Mickey questioned him, the happiness evident in his voice as he talked about Yev. “He clearly loves you.”

“Hey, he's a sweet kid. He loves everyone.”

“I'm not mad. It's nice.”

“How often do you see him?” Ian asked, enjoying the easy conversation between them. Coupled with the movement of the car, Ian felt properly relaxed for the first time since Mickey had arrived.

“When I can. I take a Friday off each month and fly through. They've visited once or twice but I usually make the trip because I don't have a toddler in tow.” The car slowed at a traffic light and Ian turned in his seat to smile at Mickey.

“I'm happy for you, Mick.”

“Yeah, well,” The roughness was back in his voice and he rolled his eyes at Ian. “I had to make the best out of a shit situation, didn't I? Yevgeny was probably the best thing my dad ever gave me.”

 

**

 

Mickey had always loved the airport. He wasn't sure what it was, especially when you consider that he never went anywhere as a kid. His dad used to dirty him and his brothers up when they were kids – not hard to do, really – and drop them off at the airport for the day, their blue eyes downcast as tourists took pity on them. They'd tackle a different part of the airport each; Mickey was the best at it and always came back with more than a few notes. Little did his dad know, he'd collect as much as he could before making his way to the viewing deck. He'd watch the flights and wonder about where they were going, who was on them. The smell of the airport food, people running about and others sleeping – it made him happy in an odd kind of way. 

He stood at the gate now, waiting for two familiar faces to come through. There was a family next to him waiting with a sign that read 'Welcome Home Granny' – Mickey had to smile a little at the sign. Ian and Mandy had opted to wait in the car and Mickey was secretly pleased; he'd shown enough of himself just talking about Yevgeny in the car. He wasn't sure he was ready for them to see the full display of Mickey: Number One Dad. Or number 215.

“Daddy!” An excited voice cut through the noise of the airport; Mickey recognised it immediately and a smile filled his face at the word. He'd just got Yev to call him dad rather than papa – he wasn't some old fucking man.

“Hey, kiddo!” Like a miniature cannonball, Yev launched himself into Mickey's legs, giggling his head off. His hair had changed since Mickey had seen him last; the older he got, the lighter it seemed to get, making it's way to a shade closer to his mother's. Mickey ran his hand through it, enjoying the softness on his hands.

“I flied – I flew a plane! I flew it and brought mama here!” He fumbled over his words in his excitement, a trait of all 4 year olds. He was breathing fast, his face lit up and Mickey laughed, impressed with the way he corrected his own words. Svetlana's partner was a teacher and it clearly showed.

“Where's mum? Did you run away?”

“He runs off before doors even open. Sometimes I don't keep up with this myshka!” Svetlana appeared next to them, a bag in her hand and a fond smile for her son. She was a lot happier looking these days; her partner, Kate, had helped her figure out what she wanted to do with her life and taken her – and Yev – to New York to do it. Now, Svetlana ran a parenting blog, giving tips to first time mums and even writing articles for different newspapers. Somehow it was a hit, despite the broken English. Yevgeny had taken to New York amazingly and Svetlana was always sending Mickey photos of Yev investigating a puddle or falling asleep on the subway. Their set up worked well and Mickey was happy knowing Yevgeny was being so well looked after. He even had plans to eventually move there himself – one day.

“Mama says I'm a little mouse!” Yev interjected, still bouncing on his heels and staring up at Mickey, his arms around his dad's knees.

“You're far too big to be a mouse!” Mickey laughed and picked him up, acting as if he weighed a tonne more than he did, which sent Yev into fits of giggles again. “Let's go get your suitcase and your car seat! Are you going to help me lift them, little mouse?”

“It's too big for you, dad. I can do it!” But as he said it, he was curling closer into Mickey, his thumb coming to rest in between his lips. Mickey gave Svetlana a questioning look.

“He does it less now. Progress.”

They walked together in the direction of the baggage carousel, Yev starting to breathe deeper as the hours of travelling no doubt caught up with him. Mickey manoeuvred him into a slightly more comfortable position, secretly enjoying the scent of his son. Svetlana was watching him and he blushed slightly. He still wasn't totally comfortable with people seeing him acting in a way his father would call soft.

“How you feel about father?”

Straight to the point. Mickey glanced at her as they walked, quietly appreciating the concern. Absently, he rubbed his hand up and down Yev's back. “People keep asking me that but I don't know. He was an idiot.” Mickey's swearing automatically toned down around Yev, something that had taken a lot of practice.

Svetlana kept watching him as he carried Yevgeny, her eyes now soft “You are not your father. You know this.”

It was a rare touching moment between them; they'd been brought together in the worst way and Mickey had hated her for it in the beginning. It took him a long time to come to the realisation that it wasn't her fault; Terry had mistreated and abused her just as much as he had with Mickey. Things were different between them now; they weren't the best of friends, but they certainly got on, and not purely for Yev's sake, either. Mickey swallowed and tried a small smile – he didn't have any idea how to respond but Svetlana knew him well and brushed over the moment with a wave of her hand. He didn't need to reply; she saw how the words affected him and that was all she needed as a reply.

“He was horrible man. We drink to his demise tonight.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Mickey agreed, reading a board that told him to go to carousel 5 for the bags from Svetlana's flight. They stood for ten minutes in silence as bags passed them by, Mickey fidgeting slightly as Yev's sleepy body got heavier. An older woman walked past and smiled at them, before her eyes widened at the sight of Mickey's knuckles; Mickey smiled his most polite smile as she walked away before rolling his eyes. He was used to it.

They arrived at the car not long after, Mickey glad for it as his arm was slowly going dead from the weight of his son, and his other hand was stuck holding the car seat at an odd angle. Ian and Mandy climbed out of the car when they arrived, Mandy taking the car seat from Mickey and installing it in the car as if she'd been doing it her whole life. Carefully, Mickey put Yev into the seat and clipped him in. He shifted in his seat, eyes fluttering softly before he fell into a comfortable sleep. Svetlana shut the boot of the car quietly after putting the suitcase in and Ian let her have the front seat. It was like something from a silent play, each person trying their hardest to keep as quiet as possible. Ian and Mickey settled in the back, one on either side of Yevgeny.

“How is Josie?” Svetlana asked in a hushed voice in the front, turning her attention to Mandy who was already pulling out of the car park. 

Mickey watched them talk, his hand holding on to Yevgeny's as the conversation washed over him. He was aware of a prickling on his neck before he realised that Ian was watching him, a strange smile on his face as he did. Mickey raised his eyebrows, trying to look as tough as he could – which wasn't anything, really, when you considered the child's hand he was holding. Ian glanced at the girls in the front who were talking away happily, ignoring the back seat altogether, before he awkwardly reached his arm behind Yev's car seat to rest his hand on Mickey's shoulder. Ian then turned and watched out the window, his thumb moving over Mickey every now and then. In a fleeting movement, Mickey twisted his head and leaned down, pressing his lips swiftly onto Ian's hand before whipping his head back round and staring straight ahead. Ian's grip tightened momentarily and Mickey fought off a smile.

Svetlana had decided not to come to the wake but instead had planned to visit Vee. Mandy made her way through traffic, heading in the direction of the south side. Yev finally woke up after twenty minutes of driving, his eyes slightly bloodshot and his hair messed up on the side he'd been sleeping.

“Hey there, sleepy head.” Ian said quietly, finally taking his hand from Mickey's shoulder and using it instead to push Yev's hair out of his eyes. Mickey watched the interaction closely, not really able to place what feelings it was bringing up.

“Uncle Ian?” Yev's sleepy voice filled the car. Uncle. Ian flicked his worried eyes towards Mickey before answering Yev but Mickey was looking instead at Svetlana who had turned around to watch. He hadn't been expecting that word and the closeness of it threw him a little.

“He is uncle.”

“He was,” Mickey corrected quietly, not wanting to openly acknowledge the break up but having no choice. He realised his choice of words sounded harsh but he could think of no other way to say that technically, Ian was not Yev's uncle. 

Svetlana wasn't bothered, though; she shrugged her shoulders and gestured to Ian and Yev who were laughing at something together. “He is uncle.” She repeated and turned back around to continue her conversation with Mandy. 

Mickey wasn't really sure what to think, both loving that Yev called Ian uncle and hating it at the same time. 

“And you know who else is in the car? Mandy!” Ian was saying excitedly and Yev visibly brightened at the mention of his aunt. Mandy turned her head briefly and pulled a face, sending Yevgeny into his fiftieth fit of giggles that day. “Aren't you lucky, having all these people to visit?”

Mandy pulled up outside Kevin and Vee's house. Mickey felt a tightness in his chest; he hadn't seen the Gallagher's place since he'd been chased away from it, and looking down the street at it now was a weird feeling. This day was going to be full of weird feelings. He climbed out of the car and unbuckled Yevgeny.

“Are you coming, Uncle Ian?” He asked softly, still half asleep. Mickey watched Ian smile at Yev, realising now that it made him happy to see the connection between them; whatever happened between Mickey and Ian, he was glad that Yev had someone like Ian to look up to.

“I can't, buddy. But do you know what? You get to stay at my house tonight! Won't that be fun?” Ian said excitedly as Mickey lifted Yev out of the car. Ian grinned at something over Mickey's shoulder. “Hey, Kev!”

“Mickey Milkovich!” Kev called out instead, ignoring Ian. He had a toddler in between his legs and another in his arms, and a huge grin on his face. “What brings you to town?”

Before Mickey had a chance to reply – because Kev knew why he was here, and what today was – Svetlana took Yevgeny and rushed up the steps, muttering something to Kevin. “Say goodbye to papa.”

“Bye Papa!”

“See you guys at the Alibi – bye, papa!” Kevin shouted, a wicked grin on his face.

Mickey forced a smile on his face and climbed back into the car, waving at his son as he did. Mandy pulled away, a smirk on her face. Mickey grumbled in his seat. “It took me so long to get him to stop calling me that.”

“It's cute,” Mandy commented and Mickey punched her arm lightly.

“Don't you encourage it!”

“Yev isn't even here to be encouraged, fuck face,” She retorted and Ian laughed from the back seat. Mandy sighed, her mood changing quickly. “Here we go, then.”

The rest of the drive passed by in silence. The sun was well and truly up now, and the wind whipping in through the open windows didn't do much to help with the heat of their suits. Even Mandy, in a black dress, complained about the heat. It was all too quickly that they pulled up outside the hall.

When Mandy had first told him where the wake would be held, he hadn't really felt anything. Just being back on the south side was weird enough for him; he wasn't sure he could feel any more creeped out about things from his past, especially seeing as the biggest one was living in the house he was staying in. But now, looking up at the doors to the hall and remembering everything that had gone on here, he felt a slight panic rise in him. He had been pushed into a corner with marrying Svetlana; he hadn't wanted to, but his dad had insisted – rather physically – and Mickey hadn't had a choice. It had been one of the shittiest times in his life, especially seeing the pain it had caused Ian. Add to that the fact that he couldn't even explain to Ian how he'd felt and how he didn't like hurting him. It was a horrible time and seeing the hall now only brought all of that back. It made him feel physically sick and he wiped his clammy hands on his suit, the material suddenly scratchy under his hands. Fucking Terry.

 

**

 

Mandy was blabbering on about how hot it was but all Ian could see was how panicked Mickey looked. He'd gone pale as soon as they'd pulled up outside and even Ian couldn't deny how strange he felt to see the place again. Seeing it in passing was one thing, but having to actually go inside the hall was to be top on his list of things he'd rather not do. 

“Mickey? Shall we go in?” Ian interrupted Mandy to speak, his voice soft and Mickey brought himself out of his head, turning to look at Ian in the back. “Get it over with?”

Mickey nodded and the three climbed out of the car somewhat reluctantly; Ian was desperately hoping there'd be some form of air conditioning inside the hall but wasn't about to hold his breath. Mandy took the lead, walking up the steps and opening the door. Mickey stopped at the bottom and Ian put his hand on Mickey's back. The latter turned to look at him, utter confusion on his face.

“Why am I finding this so hard?” He asked in hushed tones and Ian's heart went out to him.

“Because he was your dad, because it's being held here, of all places – you can do this. For Mandy,” Though Ian wasn't sure of that, any more. Perhaps Mickey needed to do it for himself. “The sooner we go in, the sooner we can leave. Yeah?”

Another nod. They walked together up the stairs and into the hall, noise greeting them at once. It seemed the majority of Terry's drinking buddies were there, and that meant the town's alcoholics. The only person really missing was Terry himself, and probably Frank who had never missed an excuse to drink. Ian moved inside with Mickey glued to his side, his hand still on Mickey's back. People milled about, ignoring the seats set out almost identically to how they were at Mickey's wedding. The whole effect was off-putting. Mandy was at the bar paying for three bottles of water -it wasn't even ten in the morning, yet almost everyone else in the room had a drink in their hand. Two women in the corner seemed to be arguing about who Terry loved the most. Ian fought the urge to turn around and drag Mickey out.

A man who looked like he was on death's door himself stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat. The drunks in the room scrambled for the seats at the front and Mandy joined Ian and Mickey, handing out the water bottles. 

“Josie had to look after her mum this morning – she's going to pop into the Alibi later on so you can meet her, Mickey.” Mandy said and her brother nodded, not really paying attention. Mandy gestured towards three empty seats in the back row and they sat down.

“We are here today to celebrate the life of a – of – a great man,” The man was visibly choked up, stumbling over his words and swallowing a few times before speaking again. He swayed where he stood. “A great friend, husband, and father.”

Barely a minute in and Mickey had stood up, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. Ian watched him as he turned into a side door, pulling his packet of cigarettes out as he went; he wasn't leaving, merely going somewhere to have a smoke. Ian knew exactly where.

“Should I go after him?” Mandy whispered as the drunk at the microphone continued to waffle on about how wonderful Terry had been to him. There was no order at all to the proceedings; no doubt whoever had organised it had been as drunk as everyone was here. Ian shook his head.

“You okay on your own if I go?”

“I'm rethinking the water, but I'll be fine.” She smiled at him sadly and Ian stood up, resting a hand on Mandy's shoulder for a moment before he turned around to follow Mickey.

With a weird sense of having done it before – because of course, he had – Ian moved through the building until he stood in front of the door that held Mickey behind it. He took a breath, remembering where things had led last time they'd been in this position at Mickey's wedding, before he pushed the door open.


	6. Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mention of rape, physical abuse and homophobic slurs.
> 
> “Do you know what I eat for dinner? Children called Yevgeny!"

Mickey had wanted it to be Ian who walked through the door, just like Ian had the day of his wedding. He had been pacing the floor in a rendition of his younger self for not even five minutes before the red head pushed his way in. Mickey was overwhelmed at the sight of him, a million thoughts bubbling up within him, past and present; about his dad, what his life was like now and how much he missed Ian. None of that came out, though. He simply stopped pacing and stared at Ian who had closed the door as he had come in. They stood metres apart but Ian closed the distance quickly. He reached the shorter boy with his arms open and pulled him close, and for once Mickey Milkovich let himself be held.

It didn't take long for Mickey to grow uncomfortable, both from the warmth of their suits and the open display of emotion. He pulled back and cleared his throat gruffly, taking his jacket off and setting it on a stack of chairs behind him. Despite the bright sunlight outside, the room was dimly lit and it cast shadows across the pair. The room itself looked no different from when they were here last; the small kitchen area was behind them and the tables and chairs were piled against the wall leaving plenty of space for angry pacing, which Mickey had resumed after the pair had broken apart. A heavy sense of deja vu settled on the room. Ian watched him from an abandoned chair as Mickey moved backwards and forwards across the floor.

“You didn't have to follow me down,” Mickey spoke, not really meaning the words that almost echoed in the emptiness of the room. “It's just none of these fuckers _knew_ him, you know?”

“I know. The same thing happened at Frank's funeral. We ended up walking out, actually. All of us.” Mickey eyed up Ian as he spoke, thankful for the excuse not to talk. “Our dad's don't deserve children like us, who make last attempts to get 'closure'. Willing to try just one more time, and then even in death, we get slapped in the face for the effort.”

“That's deep, Gallagher.”

“Yeah, well,” Ian said lamely. He gestured towards the door. “We can leave.”

“I don't wanna leave just yet.” Mickey's voice had become thick, and Ian appeared to have picked up on it almost immediately; he stood up the same time as Mickey stopped pacing. “Can we hang down here? Just for a bit?”

“Of course.” A pause, and then, “Do you remember what happened last time we hung down here, though?”

A step closer. Mickey could almost see each individual freckle on Ian's face and his hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach up and make some form of contact. He instead wiped his thumb over his bottom lip, accidentally-on-purpose because he knew what it did to Ian. They both knew where this was heading.

“Of course I remember.” It was all Mickey said but his body betrayed him; he took an involuntary step towards Ian. The pair looked as if they were moving in slow motion, one step at a time.

“You know, history has a way of repeating itself,” Ian said and Mickey smirked; it was quite possibly the nerdiest thing Ian had ever said and yet Mickey felt a pull when he remembered in detail exactly what had happened last time. “Imagine what your dad would think. It would be a nice way to say goodbye.”

“Are you hitting on me, Gallagher?”

“Is it working?”

Mickey didn't answer, but instead closed the gap completely between them in a rush, his lips crashing into Ian's with such force he was surprised they didn't fall over in a mess of limbs. Instead, Ian's arms came behind Mickey and pulled him close so that their bodies were sealed with nothing between them. The kiss went on as their hands explored each other, each making up for lost time. Mickey was sure he could feel Ian's hands shaking as they moved up his back and into his hair, Mickey groaning slightly at the movement. Fuck, he had missed this.

Suddenly, an urgency overtook them both. Mickey's hands grabbed at Ian's shirt, pulling it apart and revealing his chest, his hands now exploring Ian's bare skin. Mickey was already half-hard in his pants and all it took was for Ian to move his lips down Mickey's neck, sucking and biting, for his body to respond in full. Ian took his turn now to remove Mickey's jacket and shirt, the latter watching his movements carefully, hunger growing inside him at Ian's eager face. Pausing before removing clothing from their lower half of their bodies, Ian pulled Mickey close again, their lips meeting once more and it was as if they'd never been apart; they knew each other so well. Mickey had a brief moment of worry – what if Mandy came to look for them? But it was lost when Ian's hand held Mickey so tight, as if afraid to let him go again.

Ian took a few steps into Mickey, their lips never separating, as they moved backwards together towards the closest table. Mickey sat on it with a thump, his fingers fumbling with Ian's belt and the buckle of his pants, desperate in his need to have more of Ian. Ian broke away and stripped his own pants off, Mickey following suit until they both stood there, naked in the dim light and both breathing furiously. Ian cocked an eyebrow at Mickey.

“Well? Is it working?”

“Fuck, _yes._ ”

Mickey reached for Ian, pulling him closer, their lips felt as if they were fused together at this point while his hands reached down. Ian groaned loudly at the feel of Mickey's hands on his cock, and the noise only spurred Mickey on further. When he began to move his hand Ian lost it altogether, his nails digging into Mickey's back and more noises escaping his lips.

“Mickey – fuck -”

Ian watched as Mickey lined their cocks up together, the taller of the two moving slightly to help. The moment they touched, noises emitted from the pair – Mickey was no longer worried about someone walking in, he only wanted this to continue because _fuck_ – he'd forgotten about the noises Ian could make, how he made Mickey want to fuck him over and over just with a single sound. Ian worked with Mickey to start up a rhythm, slow at first but eventually Ian used his hands to brace himself on Mickey and began thrusting harder and harder into Mickey's hands.

The effect was incredible, and Mickey was astounded at his own ability to hold out as long as he had, considering he'd been dreaming of this for so long. Ian leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mickey's shoulder, biting down hard as he got closer and closer to what they both wanted; Mickey was almost there himself, especially with the contact of Ian's teeth on his skin.

They came together in an instant, Ian's hands on Mickey's neck as he pulled him close and they kissed, slowly, tongues meeting in the middle and mixing together almost lazily, before they both came crashing back to reality. _Shit_.

 

**

 

Ian had never dressed so quickly in his life. The moment their kiss had ended, they had avoided eye contact and both began dressing in silence. It was awkward to say the least when without a word, Mickey left the room and left Ian behind. In truth, what were they both expecting, really? Ian felt shame creep over him at his lack of self control – he wanted it to happen, yes, but not that way and certainly not with this ill feeling afterwards. That's not to say he hadn't enjoyed it because fuck, he had enjoyed it more than any fuck he'd had the last three years. None of them had meant anything, and Mickey _always_ meant something. 

Ian brushed off his suit and sighed deeply to himself. Here we fucking go.

Walking back into the hall, it seems no time had passed. The same drunk idiot was babbling on, although now there were a few women in the front row dabbing at their eyes, another openly sobbing. Ian shook his head in disgust and aimed for the seat next to Mandy. Mickey sat on the other side of her but avoided Ian's eye, as he expected him to. Mandy merely turned and raised an eyebrow at Ian but he shook his head and faced forward.

“But, alas, I have talked too much. It is now time for Terry's children to say a few words.” He spoke as if he was a wise old man and the people watching drank it up. The woman in the front row choked back a sob.

Mickey stood up almost immediately and walked to the front of the room, eyes watching him as he did. Ian felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach; he exchanged a look with Mandy. They were both sure that neither Mandy or Mickey were planning on talking. Ian watched as Mickey smiled warmly – which should have been Ian's second warning, the first being that Mickey even went up to talk in the first place – at the previous speaker, and step in front of the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” He said grandly, his hands sweeping out to encompass them all. “We are gathered here to celebrate the life of my father, Terry _fucking_ Milkovich.”

No one had clued on yet that this was not a regular eulogy. People cheered, raised their glasses at Mickey's words. It seems only the pair in the back row could hear the venom in Mickey's voice. Mandy reached over and took Ian's hand, squeezing it tightly. The anticipation ricocheted between them.

“Terry was a great father. Really, he was a class act. One of his favourite things to do when we were kids was to send us out into the streets to beg for money and food – we were pretty poor, you know. This was before his drug dealing days. Whatever we collected he kept for himself, though.” A few murmurs, but no one said anything. “Another thing he loved to do was beat us senseless. I think it was a way of keeping us in line, but if you know the Milkoviches, you know that there aren't many rules we follow!”

He said it so bluntly that even Ian felt shocked, though he had known what an asshole Terry had been. Mandy squeezed his hand even tighter. Mickey had a twisted smile on his face but his eyes betrayed his true emotions; they were cold and dark.

“Some of you may or may not know that he especially liked to get drunk and fuck with my sister.” Mandy had gone pale, her eyes big and round, and Ian put both of his hands over hers. “Something I regret not doing more about, but dear old dad had his share of love for me, too. As you probably know, I'm fucking gay, but that didn't make father dearest happy, did it?”

A man stood up with an angry look on his face, but Mickey flipped him off. “Sit the fuck down. You asked us to speak, I'm speaking.” The man did as he was told; you don't fuck with a Milkovich, Ian thought.

“Should we go up and get him?” Ian whispered to Mandy but she didn't reply; he made a mental note to text Josie the first chance he got.

“So naturally, dad tried to beat the shit out of me in the hopes that it would set me straight. But it didn't fucking work – do you know how I know? Because I just jerked my ex off in the basement and I don't regret a second of it! Do you hear that, daddy?” He was yelling now, no need for the microphone as he pushed it roughly aside. Still, incredibly, no one moved. Ian let Mandy's hand go and made to stand up. “We fucked at your funeral, and I'd do it again, you fucking asshole! Fuck you!”

Ian moved now, before someone else got the chance, and moved quickly. Striding forward, he put his arm firmly on Mickey's and pulled; he came easily but he shrugged Ian's arm off and stormed forward and out of the hall. Ian let him go, turning instead to Mandy as she stood also.

“You okay?” He asked quietly, his arm now moving around her shoulders. People were talking loudly now, shooting filthy looks towards the pair but Ian ignored them. The woman who had been sobbing earlier was being consoled by a creep in a fedora and she was staring at Ian, her voice getting more and more shrill. “Come on, we need to leave.” He added now, pulling Mandy with him.

“I'm okay – I'd made my peace with all of that, but it wasn't easy to hear it like that. Fucking Mickey,” She spat, her hands shaking slightly as she pulled out her phone, no doubt to text Josie. She thought for a second before adding, “Fucking dad, I should say.”

“You definitely should. Grief affects everyone differently – Mickey clearly needed to deal with it this way.” Ian said slowly as they walked out. Mandy shook her head in disgust next to him as three men leered at her on the way out. “Can you see him?”

The sun hit their eyes at the same time and for a moment, they squinted as they adjusted to the light outside and the sudden intensity of heat. Ian looked around the street in front of them, spotting the car but no Mickey. Mandy was already making her way to the vehicle. 

“Josie is going to come over. Are you coming home with me or are you going to walk around town for a bit?” She asked quickly. Ian followed her over to the car and glanced around the street again. Mandy stood next to the car door and looked at him impatiently. “Ian?”

“I'm going to look for Mickey.”

“Whatever.”

She practically flung herself into the car and took off; Ian knew she would be okay – Josie was good for her and he knew that she wasn't as upset as she would have been in the past. She was right; she'd made her peace with what an asshole her dad was, despite the mixed feelings about his death. Ian, however, already regretted his decision. It was boiling outside and he was stuck in his suit. He pulled off his jacket and began walking in no particular direction. He pulled his phone out with his free hand and went to call Mickey but found a text from him already.

_Don't come looking for me._

Well fuck. He should have gone home.

 

**

 

Mickey had always been particularly good at brooding. It was his thing, so to speak. He enjoyed sulking, too. There was nothing better than sitting and stewing in your bad mood. He'd somehow gotten better at it the last few years, and he stood now in the backyard of his old house, getting ready for some serious brooding. The house looked no different, just maybe a little more run down. It was empty – it's last occupant now dead – and Mickey knew he'd have no problem breaking in. When he walked up to the back door, he found it open. A quick sweep of the house told him he was alone; he now looked at the state of it.

It was unbelievable to him that he had been brought up in such a shit hole and somehow managed to turn out okay – for the most part. The house was in a state. No doubt there had been looters and squatters since Terry had died, and they'd certainly left their mess behind. Litter covered the floor in every direction and Mickey had to wade through it to get to his old room. His door was shut, the old sign hanging on by one final nail. He pushed open the door; an hour lying on his old bed with a smoke in his hand was all he needed.

Apparently, that was not on the cards. His room was trashed, more so than the rest of the house. Not just a little bit of rubbish, but totally trashed. The windows were broken, curtains ripped from the rods. The closet door was open, a few of his clothes remained but most had been stolen or – by the looks of it – burnt. It was a mess, and Mickey felt his eyes prickling. His bed was stripped bare and stains covered the filthy mattress; it made Mickey want to vomit, but that wasn't the worst of it. In thick black spray paint, the word 'faggot' covered his wall, over and over again. There wasn't a bare patch of wall; it was covered in the word.

He started to back out of the room, bile rising in his throat but before he could step out, he bent over and vomited on the floor, his throat burning and eyes stinging. Mickey coughed harshly, vomiting further at the sight of an unknown substance on the floor a foot from where he was standing. When he was sure he was finished, he gasped to catch his breath, ripping his jacket off and using it to wipe his face. Tears stung his eyes and he let them, backing out of the room finally after throwing his jacket in with the mess and stalking out of the house.

It wasn't a long walk back to the house, but he walked slowly anyway. He had always known what his father had thought of him – Terry hardly kept it a fucking secret. But something told him it wasn't just his father who had done a number on his room. Maybe one or two of his brothers, definitely drunk friends of Terry's. The word didn't bother him so much; fuck, he'd used it in the past himself before he really knew better. It was more that his room had been a place he'd felt safe growing up. He would curl up in bed with the pillow over his head and the blankets on top of that, shutting off whatever was going on inside his house at the time. To see his room in that state wasn't easy.

Mandy's car wasn't outside when he arrived back at her house and he was quietly thankful; he hadn't meant to go as far as he did, and he made a mental note to apologise to her. It was late afternoon when he made his way up the steps and into the house, grateful for the shade.

“Mickey?”

Hearing Ian say his name never failed to make Mickey want to smile. He hid it now, though; the memory of what they'd done that morning resurfaced as Ian came down the stairs hurriedly. “Mickey.”

“Ian.” Mickey mocked him and Ian looked hurt. They stood metres apart, watching each other. “Where's Mandy?”

“She's out picking up Svetlana and Yev. Where have you been?”

“Out.” Mickey pushed past Ian and moved up the stairs; Svetlana and Yevgeny would be staying in his room, and he needed to move his stuff out for them. Ian followed.

“Do you want to talk?”

“Does it look like I want to fucking talk, Ian?”

“I just thought -”

“Can I just be alone, please?” Mickey burst out angrily, turning to face Ian, his face red.

“I'm not sure you should be alone, Mick.” He didn't move from the room, just stood there with a concerned look on his face and Mickey absurdly wanted to hit him. “We should talk about today – the funeral and -”

“No, we fucking shouldn't, okay? Yev is going to be here soon and I'm not about to get into it with you. So just fuck off.”

Ian opened his mouth but paused and closed it again. He shook his head slightly and turned to leave the room. Mickey flipped him off behind his back and then sat down on his bed in frustration. The fuck was he doing?'

 

**

 

“Ian!”

Ian lifted Yevgeny up and swung him around, the child giggling madly; did he ever do anything else? Ian pretended to throw him on the couch and began tickling him furiously. Yev pushed his little hands onto Ian's and tried to push him away, but Ian didn't let him.

“Pleeease! Stop!” Ian relented, picking Yev up instead and holding him close.

“Do you know what I eat for dinner? Children called Yevgeny!” He made munching noises and pretended to eat Yev's fingers. He started to scream and Ian stopped. “Hey, keep it down or your mum will tell me off!”

“I already come to do this, carrot boy.” Svetlana swept into the room, carrying a glass of wine, Mandy following in her wake. “Myshka – you call him your Uncle Carrot Boy.”

“Aren't we supposed to be teaching him not to tease people?” Mickey came down the stairs, a grin on his face as he watched Yev bounce up and down on Ian's knee; Mickey carefully avoided Ian's eye. They were experts at it, now. “I've put clean sheets on the bed.” He told Svetlana and she nodded.

“Jeez, when is the wedding? Oh – wait a second!” Mandy laughed hard at her own joke and Mickey flipped her off behind Yev's back. Yev laughed as if he was in on the joke and Ian felt a rush of affection for the child.

“I'm gonna go to a wedding soon!”

“Myshka – it's bed time,” Svetlana cut in, ignoring the fact that the sun was only just setting.

“He can stay up a little longer, right? Whose wedding, kiddo?” Mickey asked, messing Yevgeny's hair up. “You meet someone?”

“Noooo!” Yev called out, giggling at the very idea of him getting married. “Mama's wedding!”

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Svetlana. For once she was blushing – Ian wasn't sure he'd ever seen her blush before. Mandy was the first to break the silence with an excited squeal – incredibly girly for her – and she pulled Svetlana into a one-armed hug, each careful not to spill their wine. Svetlana smiled slightly but waved her hand.

“Please. It's not important. I wasn't going to tell yet – importance is on father today.”

“Are you kidding?” Mickey called and, like a tennis match, all eyes flicked to him – even Ian's. “This is a much better reason to celebrate!”

Ian watched Svetlana's face as Mickey spoke and saw the relief fly across it; he wasn't sure why she felt like she needed his acceptance, but she was clearly glad for it. Yev looked from one parent to the other, a smile beaming from his face. Ian felt the happiness in the room and chanced a look at Mickey. He was already watching Ian, an odd look on his face; Ian felt hope flutter in his chest.

“Then let us drink!” Svetlana said and the adults in the room cheered; Yevgeny shouted out with them and they laughed.

After Yev had finished his drink – a very exciting orange juice – Svetlana took him up to bed. They all settled, drinks in hand, in the lounge talking quietly. The atmosphere was peaceful after the morning they'd had, and Ian felt relaxed.

“Seriously, Lana – this is so exciting. Do you have a date?” He asked excitedly as Mandy nodded, taking a sip of her drink and eagerly awaiting an answer.

“Not yet but most likely next summer. You are all invited, yes?” She said dismissively and Mickey laughed.

“Maybe I can be your best man,” He joked and Svetlana shot him a look, raising one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“I think you will be bridesmaid.”

Ian and Mandy burst into laughter, both at the comment and at Mickey's face. “It's so exciting, though!” Mandy said, her smile wide on her face as Mickey grumbled to himself.

“It's just a wedding Mandy, jeez.” Mickey commented, rolling his eyes and drinking more of his beer. Ian smirked at him.

“What, you're never gonna get married, Mickey?” His sister asked and Mickey pulled a face at her, his expression cloudy. His eyes flicked to Ian for a fraction of a second before moving back to Mandy.

“What does marriage even mean, really?” He retorted and Ian jumped straight back in time to when they'd broken up; he had laughed at Mickey, made fun of him at the thought of them getting married. Shit.

“Svetlana, do you want another drink?” Ian asked, cutting the conversation cleanly in two. The tall Russian shook her head and downed the last of her wine. 

“I am tired. Sleep time.” She stated and stood up, giving Ian her glass and heading for the stairs. “Goodnight.”

They all chorused a goodnight back to her, and Ian moved about the room collecting empty bottles and glasses. Mandy stood up, stretching as she did so, a loud yawn escaping her mouth.

“When are you off, Mickey? I thought you could meet Josie tomorrow since you didn't today.”

“Uh – I'm not sure yet. But I'll be here tomorrow.”

“Good.” Mandy replied firmly, and smiled at the pair of them. She did her most exaggerated wink and called out in a sing-song voice, “Goodnight!”

After she'd moved upstairs, Mickey snorted. “She thinks she fucking knows everything, that girl.”

“She's pretty smart, you know. Smarter than you,” Ian chanced a joke and turned to look at Mickey who had picked up an empty packet of chips.

“It's not hard.”

Not in the mood for jokes then. Together they cleaned the lounge silently, putting the bottles in recycling and the rubbish in the bin. When it was clean, Ian opened the cupboard under the stairs and pulled extra blankets out for Mickey.

“Will you be warm enough?”

An eye roll.

“It's summer. I'll be fine.”

A sigh.

“Are we going to talk about today?”

Mickey was clearly frustrated but Ian wasn't going to let this go; it had happened and they needed to clear the air.

“About what, Ian? We are both consenting adults who made a dumb fucking decision. We do not need to go into a deep and meaningful discussion about how we feel; you've made yourself clear on the subject, and I really don't feel like fucking revisiting the past tonight.”

Ian stood still for a moment, not really sure what to say but feeling like he should say something. Mickey stared at him before unfolding the blankets and settling on the couch. He closed his eyes pointedly and Ian sighed to himself quietly. He turned off the main light and went to go up the stairs, but at the last second he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Mickey's head, not really caring what the latter thought. Fuck him.


	7. Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck, Milkovich. What's wrong with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the gap between chapters; I saw Mockingjay Part Two last night and I'm shattered in more than one way. I've already started the next chapter, though, so I'll have it up as soon as I can.  
> PS: I hope you're listening to the Yellowcard songs the chapters are titled after because seriously, they're wonderful. :)  
> PPS: I know top!Ian is canon but top!Mickey is my fave :)

“Mickey, this is Josie.”

Josie stood in front of Mickey with a warm smile and her hand out. Mickey looked at it warily but, catching sight of his sister's face, he plastered a smile on his own face. “Nice to meet you.”

They were out front of an old fashioned diner, complete with red leather seats and 60s style music drifting out of the open windows. The waitresses even wore roller skates, somehow managing to still balance trays of food and drink. It was not somewhere Mickey would have visited but Mandy had insisted that they served good, simple food, plus it was Josie's favourite place. Mandy had insisted that Ian came with them; Mickey wasn't sure why but perhaps his sister felt that with Ian there, conversation would flow better. She was probably right.

They entered the diner and took a seat at a booth in the back. Mickey slid in first and Ian sat down next to him; fucking great. A waitress rolled over with a bright smile on her face and a notebook and some menus in hand. Mickey forced back a grimace at the falseness of it all.

“Welcome to Fast Eddy's, guys! Let me tell you our specials today. We have a BBQ beef burger which comes with fries or salad for just $5.99, or for the vegos we have a seasonal vegetable tart, again with fries or salad for $5.99 also.” The pitch of her voice went up with every sentence; it grated on Mickey's nerves. “I'll leave you with some menus and come back to take your order soon!”

Mandy thanked her with a smile that suggested she knew what it was like to be in the woman's shoes – or skates – and they opened their menus.

“So, Mickey, what do you do?” Josie asked politely, her menu already laid down on the table. Mickey glanced at it and she laughed. “I get the same thing every time.”

“I work for a building company; boring stuff.” Mickey said, already regretting meeting Josie in an environment where they'd be here for at least an hour, and where he couldn't drink to ease away the anxiety of meeting someone new – and important. “You work as a chef?”

“Head chef, yeah. It's stressful but I love it.”

Ian and Mandy were pulling faces at each other, giggling at their own immaturity. Mickey wasn't a fan of 'getting to know you' conversations but he forged on anyway for his sister's sake. “How long have you and Mandy known each other?”

“Oh, since I started working at Jacs. I only moved here a few weeks before I started as the chef there so I didn't really know anyone. Mandy was really helpful.” The two girls smiled at each other now and Mickey felt awkward at the private moment. He turned to Ian as the pair opposite them spoke quietly to each other. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say to Ian, only that he wanted to escape the awkward moment across the table.

“D'you know what you're ordering?” Shit, he might as well have asked about the weather. Ian smirked at him but Mickey ignored it.

“Can you imagine what your dad would say if he saw this table? It's like a gay rights rally in this booth.” Ian chuckled at his own joke and Mickey scowled at him. “Hey, I'm only kidding. But come the fuck on – imagine his face!”

For a fleeting moment, his dad's enraged face popped into Mickey's mind and he thought of how ridiculous he would look. He would be so sure he was right in calling who they all were wrong. But looking across the table at how happy his sister clearly was, and thinking about how Ian could make him feel – regardless of the state of their relationship now – how could that be wrong? His dad was _dead_. For the first time in his life, he truly felt free to enjoy who he was without the fear of his dad hiding around the corner ready to catch him and hurt him. The feeling made him want to lean over and plant one on Ian, but he settled instead for relenting and laughing at Ian's joke.

“He'd look pretty fucking stupid,” Mickey said, and Ian nodded with a grin on his face.

The waitress reappeared with a start and took their orders. A moment later she was back with drinks – all four of them congratulated her on not spilling a drop while on wheels. The conversation turned to everyday topics – the weather, of all things – and Mickey found himself enjoying the meeting more than he thought he would. The food was delicious, and the company was pretty good, too. It was easy to talk to Josie and he found that he liked her a lot. Mandy was clearly smitten; she would rest her hand on Josie's knee at times, or even around her shoulder. Mickey was happy for his sister because god knew she deserved it. The pleasant mood affected the whole table, and while Josie and Mandy argued about what dessert to order, Ian slowly slid his hand along the seat between him and Mickey. Eventually he reached Mickey's hand and squeezed it softly; Mickey applied pressure back, feeling a rush of affection. He wasn't sure what was going on between them – they had yet to truly talk properly – but these little moments made him happy.

“Fine! Chocolate pie but you have to make me an apple pie one day soon.” Mandy was demanding and Mickey was brought back to reality. He moved his hand back into his own lap and pulled a face at Mandy.

“Why would you want apple pie? Fruit doesn't belong in a dessert.” Mickey said in a disgusted tone and Josie nodded her approval, poking her tongue out at Mandy. Ian however made a noise and they all turned to look at him.

“Fruit is the only thing that _should_ go in a dessert. Have you not had apple pie before?” Mickey shook his head. “Fuck, Milkovich. What's wrong with you?”

“Hey, fuck you!”

“You can't judge it if you haven't tried it before,” Josie put in and he pretended to glare at her for adding her two cents worth.

“You're supposed to be on my side!”

She put her hands up in the air and sat back in her seat. “I remain impartial.”

“Face it, Mickey. You're outnumbered.”

Mickey grumbled under his breath while the others laughed and ordered their dessert from the waitress who had skated over. The rest of the meal passed without incident – besides a bit more teasing towards Mickey. They shielded their eyes and exited the restaurant, feeling the warmth of the late afternoon sun on their faces.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you, Mickey.” Josie said and Mickey was blown away with how polite she continued to be – how his swear-loving sister managed to bag this one was beyond him. 

“You, too.” They shook hands awkwardly before Josie laughed and pulled him forward into a hug. He was surprised but let it happen.

“Mandy told me to do that to freak you out. Sorry!”

“Yeah? Well Mandy forgets that her brother knows plenty of embarrassing stories that I'm more than willing to share.” He threatened and Mandy pulled Josie away by the arm.

“See you!” Josie called out as the two girls disappeared down the street, laughing together. Ian and Mickey watched them go.

“She's nice, hey?” Ian asked. They turned in the direction of home, walking slowly next to each other. 

“She's nice.” Mickey confirmed and they were silent for a moment, the only sounds coming from their footsteps and the cars on the road next to them. “When do you have to work next?”

“Not for a week. I booked some time off after I heard about Terry.” Mickey raised an eyebrow at him. “Not because of you, shithead. I wasn't sure how Mandy was going to react. I wanted to be there for her.”

“Shit, man. Sometimes you are so gay.”

“Hey, don't enforce stereotypes on me!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

It was a content silence as they strode through the streets where they'd both grown up. Mickey found himself thinking about his sister, and the way he'd treated her in the past. He had been a shit brother, if he was honest with himself. He should have done more to get rid of Kenyatta, kept Mandy at home with them. Seeing her happy now made him feel guilty for not having helped her more but he was pleased for her; Josie was a great person for her to be with. Though it wasn't hard to beat Kenyatta.

“When are you going home?” Ian cut into Mickey's thoughts with a question he had been avoiding even thinking about. “Now that the funeral is done with, I mean.”

“I don't know,” He said truthfully. They rounded a corner and as they did, Mickey stumbled slightly on his own feet and bumped into Ian, the latter catching himself and Mickey. His hands lingered on Mickey's back and they looked at each other. “You got any plans tonight?”

“No...” Ian said slowly and Mickey licked his lips. “Mandy is staying at Josie's tonight.”

“What about Svetlana?”

“Didn't she say she was taking Yev to catch up with Darya? She's gone for the night, too.”

Like a pair of teenagers, they both figured it out at the same time and excitement crept into their faces. Mickey grinned wickedly. “What the fuck are we waiting for, then?”

 

**

 

Ian didn't breathe a word the entire walk home; one reason for this was that he didn't want Mickey to change his mind about what they were about to get up to. Ever since their little reunion at Terry's wake, Ian had been desperate to go further with Mickey, revisit what they'd once had in every way possible. The second reason Ian didn't speak was that he was worried if what they were doing was right; they both continued to ignore any attempts at actual talking, and their history together felt like a pot bubbling away; a little longer and it would boil over. He'd resolved to talk it out with Mickey but he hadn't made much of an effort. He was enjoying how easy it had been at the diner with Josie and Mandy; they'd felt like a couple again, but a _proper_ couple. They'd never had that before and fuck, Ian wanted that so badly.

It was slightly awkward when they finally reached home. They both knew what they were there for, but Mickey busied himself tidying the lounge and Ian went into the kitchen to do the dishes. What the fuck? Finally, after dancing around each other for half an hour, Ian caught Mickey as he came down the stairs. He didn't even give him a chance to talk – he put one hand behind Mickey's neck and pulled him close, their lips meeting.

Mickey had always been a good kisser; Ian had been pleasantly surprised, really, when they were younger. He never wanted to do it much, but when he did – fuck, Ian could kiss him for hours. As much as he loved fucking Mickey – and he _really_ loved fucking Mickey – he could be content with just locking lips forever.

Now, however, Mickey had different ideas. Awkwardly, the pair moved up the stairs while still placing kisses on each other. Mickey backed into Ian's room and Ian followed, kicking the door shut with his foot. Mickey fell back onto the bed and stared up at Ian as the latter removed his shirt.

“Wait, can I show you something?” Ian asked suddenly.

“If it's hiding in your pants, sure.” Mickey replied, his own excitement clear. Ian shook his head and pulled his notebook from the dresser. He pushed Mickey down so that he was lying on his back and Ian climbed on top. “Seriously, Ian, what the fuck? Are you just going to tease me like this or are we gonna bang?”

“I just wanted to show you this.” Ian said and handed the book. Mickey looked up at him and bit his lip; Ian frowned at his expression. “You don't want to see?”

“I – uh – may have already seen it.”

“What? When?” Ian moved back to sit next to Mickey on the bed and Mickey sat up, still holding the book.

“Your door was open and – I fucking snooped in your room, okay?” He burst out angrily, running a hand through his black hair and Ian watched the way it flicked back up as his fingers moved through it. “I'm sorry and I feel like a dick for it but Ian – they're really good.”

His voice had gotten softer and he held the book so carefully in his hands that Ian felt a lump in his throat. “You like them?”

“They're amazing.”

Ian smiled for a minute, enjoying the embarrassed look on Mickey's face because it didn't happen often enough – he was so cute when he was blushing – but Mickey stood up and put the book back on the dresser. He moved back towards the bed and stood on his knees in front of Ian. They stared at each other again for a moment, but just like that the urgency rushed back into the room, and they were attacking each other's lips again. As one of Ian's hands stays behind Mickey's neck to keep his lips close, his other palms his ass, using that hand to pull him closer, too.

Mickey moaned into Ian's lips, making him melt in that way that only Mickey could do. Their kiss turned messy, tongues everywhere and neither cared. Mickey kept making small noises, quiet enough that only Ian could hear and they only spurred him on further, made him want more. Both hands were on Mickey's ass now, forcing his lower half closer, the heat between them building up quickly.

“Jesus, Mick,” Ian's voice almost pleaded, needing more as Mickey's lips moved down his neck and to his collar bone. He sucked at the skin on his shoulder, biting softly and Ian's hands responded to the touch, reaching out and tugging at the jeans Mickey was wearing. He unbuckled them swiftly, sliding them down and discarding them on the floor.

“Take yours off,” Mickey demanded and Ian did as he was told, excited by the hunger in Mickey's eyes. “Your boxers, too.” As much as Ian wanted to take control, to ride Mickey until they were both spent, he was enjoying the way Mickey was ordering him about. In the dying afternoon light, Ian watched as Mickey knelt above him on the bed. “Lie on your back.”

Ian did what Mickey said, his cock standing to attention as Mickey straddled him. He moved down onto his hands and knees, his breath sending goosebumps up and down Ian's body. Mickey moved up and began at Ian's throat, his tongue working in circles on his neck. Ian was ready to come right then but he forced himself to focus on what Mickey was doing. Slowly, he transferred his weight onto one hand and used the other to trace a line down to Ian's cock. His tongue was moving down his chest now as Mickey shifted down the bed.

“Mickey – fuck me.” It was only a whisper but Ian's wide eyes saw Mickey smirk. No way was he going to let him get off that easy.

“I don't think so.” Mickey replied, his voice thick. His hand was now enclosed around Ian fully, and the latter called out with every micro movement. “How badly do you want it?”

“So bad – Mick, _please_.” 

“Turn over.”

The words were barely out of Mickey's mouth and Ian was on all fours, his eyes turning back to watch what Mickey was doing. As much as he loved watching Mickey's face when they fucked, being on all fours meant Mickey could go deeper, and fuck Ian wanted it bad. When they'd shared Mickey's room, they had always kept the lube and condoms in the drawer next to the bed. Ian watched as Mickey correctly guessed that he would find some in Ian's bed side drawer. Another smirk.

“You're fucking predictable, you know that?”

“You love it.” He hadn't meant it, really – it had just been a quick comeback, but something flickered in Mickey's face and Ian didn't want to address it; not now. “Are you going to fuck me?”

Mickey switched straight back to what he was doing; he brought the lube and a condom onto the bed and Ian fought the urge to push him onto the bed and fuck him then; Mickey's cock was as hard as his own and he longed to feel it inside him.

Out of nowhere, Ian felt a finger enter him. He cried out at the sudden intensity, quickly adjusting and craving more. Mickey responded in kind, entering another two fingers and working up a steady rhythm, Ian was bucking against his hand, now, a sweat building up between them and the room felt hot. Mickey's spare hand reached round and pulled on Ian's cock, eliciting more sounds from him.

Ian felt the void the moment Mickey's fingers left him and he found him self arching backwards, craving more. He looked back to see Mickey rolling a condom on and he almost shivered in anticipation. He didn't have to wait long; Mickey entered him slowly, as if to tease Ian right up until the last moment. It fucking worked, though; he was barely inside and Ian was groaning for more.

For all the build up, it didn't last long after that. Mickey gripped Ian's hips hard as he moved in and out, Ian calling out demands every breath, one of his hands on his own cock. They are both close now; Mickey grunting above Ian, their skin slapping together. Ian loved that sound but it couldn't be heard properly over his own noises; he couldn't stop crying out for more, more because fuck, how long had he wanted this? Since the day Mickey left.

“Mickey, I'm almost there. Shit – fuck me,” Ian gasped out words in between the bursts of static he was feeling; his mind was on Mickey, only Mickey. Why had they denied themselves of this for so long? He never wanted it to end, but it was well on its way to ending.

In one fluid movement, Mickey surged into Ian as he leaned down and bit Ian's side; Ian came at the delightful mix of pleasure and pain. Mickey came a second later, spurred on by the sight of Ian panting desperately beneath him. They collapsed on the bed, a heap of sweat and limbs. Ian caught Mickey's eye; round two was just around the corner.

 

**

 

When Mickey woke up for the first time, he did so slowly. He was first aware that he was naked, which didn't bother him too much considering there was another naked body next to him, one a lot more attractive than he was. He kept his eyes shut and used his other senses to figure out what was going on. Ian lay on his stomach, his arm curled around Mickey's torso and his head leaning on Mickey's shoulder. Being someone who enjoyed weight on top of him – in more than one way – Mickey found that he was quite comfortable in this position. He chanced opening an eye and looked around the room blearily. Judging by the light – or lack of – coming through the window, he guessed it was early evening. When they'd arrived home earlier it had been around 3pm, so they'd been sleeping for an hour or so. He listened carefully for signs that anyone else was home but heard none. Grateful for the time alone, he curled onto his side and into Ian.

When he woke up for the second time, before he'd even properly registered that he was awake, he could sense someone watching him. He opened his eyes again, just registering that the room was almost completely darkened. The only light came from a street light and it lit the room up enough that Mickey could see Ian lying on his back next to him in the bed, a sheet covering his lower body and his head turned so his eyes could fix on Mickey.

"Do you know that's actually kinda creepy, dude?" Mickey asked with a sleepy voice. He stretched his arms above him and enjoyed the pull of his muscles as he did. He turned on his side to face Ian. "You trying to be romantic or some shit?"

"Trust you to ruin me trying to be romantic or some shit." Ian retorted but he was grinning and Mickey rolled his eyes.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Not long. We've slept awhile. It's nearly ten pm and I'm fucking starving." The moment Ian spoke Mickey felt his stomach rumble. Ian heard it and grinned wider. "Hungry?"

"I could eat."

Which would explain how half an hour later they found themselves cooking bacon and eggs in the kitchen. Mickey left Ian to it; Ian clearly enjoyed cooking and he wasn't going to deprive him of that enjoyment. He sat instead at the table with a beer and watched Ian carefully.

"You know what we're doing here, right?" Mickey said as Ian pushed a plate of hot food in front of him. Ian shook his head. "We're like a domesticated couple or some shit."

Ian froze slightly before looking at Mickey carefully. "Is that what we are? A couple?"

Shit fuck shit. What'd he even mean by that? He'd walked straight into it, really. What had he been expecting from that comment? He busied himself with his food for a moment before speaking. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"Fuck, Ian. What's with the questions? I'm sorry I said anything." Mickey shovelled food into his mouth as Ian stared. The latter wasn't satisfied though; he'd put his fork down and was watching Mickey.

"No, you know what? We need to do this. We can't just keep fooling around every few days and then acting as if nothing happened, Mickey."

"Hey, we won't have to any longer. I'm going home tomorrow."

Silence. Mickey hadn't even realised what he'd been saying before it had flew out of his mouth. He took a second to mull it over in his head – lightening fast – before he decided it was for the best. He nodded to himself to confirm the statement but somehow something didn't feel quite right. He ignored it.

"You're leaving?"

"You said yourself the funeral is done. I don't need to stick around."

"What about Svetlana and Yev?" Shit. Mickey hadn't thought about them. He speared a piece of bacon on his fork.

"They'll be leaving, too. They only came for a few days." He wasn't sure why he was continuing to eat but he was; Ian looked at him as if Mickey was out of his mind. Maybe he was. He could see the words on Ian's tongue, saw the pain as he decided to say them.

"What about me?" Mickey hadn't expected it to hit him so square in the chest. He looked down at his now empty plate and felt sick for eating so fast. Or maybe it was Ian's face making him feel sick. Their roles had reversed once again; Mickey wanted to run. Instead, he felt himself swell up with anger.

"What do you want, Ian? You want us to get married? Head over to the court house and sign some bullshit paper? You said it yourself – what does that shit even mean? Those three words – they mean nothing to you. " Mickey wasn't aware that he was yelling, or that his voice broke slightly at his last sentence; he wasn't aware of anything but the blood pounding in his ears and the pain he'd felt years ago coming rushing back to him in a flood of ugly emotions. He saw Ian and all he could see was the hard expression of the Ian who had left him. He didn't want to see Ian's face as Mickey threw his own words back at him. He stood up and began pacing – a new speciality of his. "I'm not doing this again. No fucking way."

"Doing what?! We aren't doing shit because we keep going round in circles. I'm mad, you're mad. We don't move forward past this point!" Ian yelled, his face turning red to match his hair. He sat back in his chair and ran his hands over his face.

"Maybe we're not fucking meant to."

"What?"

Ian deflated in front of him but Mickey ignored it, focusing on his anger instead. "If we were supposed to get through this, we would have already. This doesn't fucking work – you and I. So what's the point?"

Ian stood up but Mickey shook his head. One benefit of sleeping in the lounge was having his stuff already packed. He moved into the lounge and picked up his bag. Ian followed with an incredulous look on his face.

"You're running away?" He was almost laughing, but the complete lack of humour in his face told Mickey that he did not find this funny. Ian shook his head slowly and took a step back. "You're actually running away."

Mickey flung his bag over his shoulder. He'd regret not saying goodbye to his sister and Yev, but he couldn't stay any longer. And in this moment, all he wanted to do was go home.

"I'm not running away. I'm walking away from something that can't be fixed."

"Mickey -"

The pleading tone didn't even touch him. He was gone.

 

**

 

"He fucking what?!"

Mandy stood in the doorway to Ian's bedroom the next morning with a hand on her hip and a classic Milkovich face: rage. It was barely 9am but no doubt she'd returned from Josie's to get ready for work. She'd come into Ian's room in search of a lost sock when Ian had told her what had happened.

"He's gone, Mandy. I'm sure he'll text you and apologise for not saying goodbye."

"I don't care about that! Why the fuck are you defending him?"

"I'm not."

"You fucking are, Ian. Christ. I thought you two were gonna sort this?" Exasperated, she moved into the room where Ian was lying face up on the bed, his hands behind his head and a blank expression on his face. He'd been awake all night, unable to sleep. He didn't know what to feel or think. Crawling onto the bed and lying next to him, she was quiet for a moment, changing tact. "How do you feel?"

He shook his head, afraid that if he spoke, tears would fall. He swallowed once but they came anyway, rolling silently down his cheeks. How could he explain what was going on inside his head right now? It didn't make sense to him, until Mickey's devastated face came swirling towards him in his mind. He pinpointed what he was feeling all at once.

"I feel how he must have felt. When I broke up with him. That's how I feel."

Mandy didn't say anything but pulled his hand down from behind his head and held it tightly in her own. He appreciated the gesture and closed his eyes, wiping the tears on his cheeks with his free hands.

"What are you gonna do now?" Mandy asked softly, her thumb stroking his own. The effect was soothing but Ian didn't feel sleep coming on any time soon.

"I was thinking I'd see if I could go back to work sooner – see if Ed needs the extra staff." Ian said, the reality now setting in that it was back to normal; back to work, to life without Mickey. He'd only been in town a few days and now Ian couldn't remember what it had been like without him. 

Empty. It had been empty. Work, eat, sleep. Repeat it all day in, day out. The odd fuck, never any romance, never any real connection. Never what he had with Mickey.

Mandy sighed angrily next to him and sat up to glare some more. "No, you idiot. You're as stupid as Lip was sometimes." Ian knew he was in trouble if Lip's name was mentioned. He sat up to face her. "What are you going to do about Mickey?"

It was Ian's turn to sigh. "What am I supposed to do, Mandy? He's gone and he made it quite clear there's nothing between us worth fighting for." It hurt to hear the words that'd been running through his head all night out loud. It didn't seem real; he hadn't planned on ever seeing Mickey again and yet not even a week with him and Ian was in love all over again.

Fuck. He was in love all over again.

"You know like fuck that whatever Mickey said was in anger. He's a fucking idiot, Ian, and you know it. You need to do something."

"What am I supposed to do? Text him?" He had already deleted his number from his phone, but who was he kidding – knew it off by heart

Mandy sighed deeply this time, as if Ian and Mickey's relationship was her own personal responsibility to work out. "Look, I can't tell you how to fix this but you have to fix it. If you don't, I'll cut your fucking balls off."

 _Right_. She stalked out of the room in a huff and Ian sulked to himself. He knew what he _should_ do but he felt like this was some twisted game between him and Mickey, one that was exhausting to play. A constant back and forth of arguing, blaming and feeling guilty. What kind of relationship was that? Was it even worth fighting for?

Of course it fucking was. It wasn't his own voice, but Mickey's who he heard. He took a deep breath and got up from the bed. He knew what he had to do.


	8. Paper Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well you didn't come all this way just to check out my digs, did you Gallagher?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me, we're getting to the end. This chapter was entirely in Mickey's POV, and the next will be Ian's. We're getting close and I super appreciate all the comments and love - you're all wonderful. See you on tumblr? thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com

Everything had happened so quickly. Before Mickey truly understood the gravity of his actions, he was back in his dingy flat with crappy air conditioning and noisy neighbours. He still had a week off work and he was in no rush to get back just yet; he felt as if he'd mentally climbed a mountain the last few days and he was going to take advantage of the time off.

He came crashing back down to earth very suddenly the first night in his own bed.

It happened all at once; one minute he was finishing his cigarette, a beer in his other hand and the TV on low. He was watching some bullshit cooking show but he always enjoyed laughing at the idiots who couldn't cook. He tended to ignore the fact that he was one of those idiots. He put his cigarette out and tipped his beer bottle up and emptied the contents into his mouth. A filthy burp filled the room and for a moment he felt embarrassed. The next minute, he remembered he was alone.

Alone.

Fuck. He _hated_ being alone. Well, he did now. Since he had left prison and began living his own life, he'd loved it. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted; no brothers to shit him off, no dad to hassle him or sister to complain about Mickey not doing his fair share. Plus, he wasn't stuck behind bars being told when to piss and when to sleep. It had suited him, being alone.

Then his dad had to fucking die and drag him back to Chicago and back to Ian and everything was a mess again. He shut off the TV with the remote and slumped down in his bed, lying face up and staring at the now dark ceiling. Fucking selfish fucking prick. He had never hated his dad so much.

But then his dad didn't force him to get involved with Ian again, did he? Terry didn't force him to fuck Ian; christ, and for Mickey to top that last time – fuck, he had been mixed up (which is not to say he hadn't enjoyed it) and he'd fucked up all on his own. And he'd done so because he'd wanted to, it'd felt right and maybe he wasn't mad at his dad, maybe he was mad at himself for being a fucking idiot. Fucking hell.

Mickey picked up his phone from the bedside table and stared at its blank screen. Slowly, he unlocked it and opened his contacts, scrolling down to Ian's name and number. He was back here again, longing for something he was too pussy to fight for. What was he doing? Ian wouldn't want to speak to him, not after the way Mickey had left. Mickey had provided Ian with the breakthrough he'd needed; he knew now that Mickey was bad news, would always cause him heartache. Plus, what were they going to do? Ian move in with Mickey? Mickey move back to the south side? No fucking way. He threw his phone across the bed and watched it bounce to the floor with a thud. He needed to clear his head.

Standing under a stream of hot water – as hot as he could handle, anyway – Mickey contemplated moving cities again. Fuck it, maybe bus it to Canada and start over again there. Forget about Ian and Chicago and everything else that made him feel like a worthless piece of crap because he didn't fight; he never fucking fought for what he wanted and why not? He was scared and he hated being scared more than he hated being alone.

There was also Yevgeny. He'd left without even saying goodbye because he'd let his feelings for Ian get in the way, cloud his judgement and make him act irrationally. Svetlana had used her most cutting tone when Mickey had rung and told her, and when he'd spoken to Yev he'd felt even worse. He was always joking around that he was a shit dad, and now it seems he was on track to live up to that expectation. And even now, instead of doing something, he was crying in the shower because his life isn't what he wanted it to be.

Maybe it was that thought, or maybe it was his dad who happened to walk into his mind at that moment, that jolted him into movement. He saw Terry, ageing and angry, his body destroyed by drugs; his mouth screaming words at Mickey that he didn't want to hear. Terry had never been a good father. Fuck. Mickey was better than that piece of shit.

Shaking his head roughly and turning off the stream of water, he climbed out of the shower and shoved his boxers on, not even bothering to dry himself properly. As he dressed, he thought of Yev, and Ian. How well they go on together, and how well all three of them could get on together. Wasn't that what he wanted, in the end? To be happy, to look after his family. It was all he'd ever wanted, really; Yev and Ian were the closest things he had to family after Mandy.

He was interrupted by a knock on his door which bothered him for two reasons; it was late at night, so who the fuck was it? And no one but his boss knew where he lived, so who the fuck was it? Without even really thinking about it, he retrieved the baseball bat he kept in his closet – just in case – and eyed the door up nervously as he approached it.

“Who is it?” He called in a voice that was a lot braver than he felt at that moment. Three years away from his dad and the south side had made him a lot softer than he used to be. There was a shuffling noise on the other side of the door and Mickey felt his panic spike before a quiet voice replied.

“It's me.”

 _Ian_.

He didn't need to name himself; Mickey would know that voice anywhere. Slowly, he stood the bat against the wall and unlocked the door; a quick glance at the clock on the wall told him that it was late. He opened the door towards him and drank the sight of Ian in; he was wearing green, and Mickey was a sucker for redheads in green – this redhead in particular. The t shirt stretched across Ian's muscular chest and Mickey fought the thoughts away; they weren't going to get sucked down this road, not yet.

“Hi.” Mickey's voice was a lot softer than it was a moment ago. Ian raised an eyebrow and Mickey stood back to let him in. As he closed the door, he watched Ian move through his flat, looking around curiously at each drab piece of furniture. He stopped in the doorway to the lounge and turned to look at Mickey. “Can we talk?”

“Well you didn't come all this way just to check out my digs, did you Gallagher?”

They shared a quick grin but they disappeared swiftly. Mickey followed him into the room and they sat at opposite ends of the couch. It was awkward, to say the least. Mickey flicked the TV on and found a channel playing music. 

“It's too quiet.” He said by way of explanation and Ian nodded, his fingers playing with the edge of his t shirt. A brightly coloured video full of half-dressed women covered the screen and Mickey stared at it to avoid looking at Ian.

“If you'd rather watch TV...” Ian let the question hang in the air and Mickey turned the TV off again angrily.

“No, Ian. I would rather not watch TV.” He sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk and you know it.”

“Then talk.” Mickey said bluntly, deep down knowing that he should be the one talking, apologising. He let Ian stammer for a moment before he sighed again.

“Can you stop with that sighing shit?” Ian burst out and Mickey smiled inwardly. He knew how to get Ian talking. It was Ian's turn to sigh now. “I came to say sorry.”

“Wait – what the fuck?”

“I'm sorry. For...so much. I treated you like shit back then. I wasn't handling my diagnosis – obviously – and I took it out on you. I'm sorry.” Mickey was not expecting that at all; he gaped at Ian.

“Ian, seriously – what the fuck?”

“Can you not make this harder than it is? I regretted breaking up with you that night. I laid in bed and...I just cried.” Ian looked down now, his hands twisting together. Mickey stared in complete bewilderment, too stunned to speak. “I didn't want you to leave, not really; I thought it would be easier without you.”

“And was it?” Mickey asked, afraid his voice would break and show how weak he was feeling. “Was it easier?”

“No.”

Mickey let out a breath, his teeth clenched. “I could have told you that.”

“I fucking know that, okay?” Ian said angrily and Mickey sat back further in his seat, letting Ian go on. “It fucking sucked so bad but I knew you wouldn't want to see me, wouldn't want to hear from me but -”

“Well you got that wrong.” Mickey cut in, his voice harsh. “I had no idea how you were doing until Lip showed up.”

“I told him to go see you; he didn't want to.” Of course he didn't, Mickey thought bitterly. “I thought about going to see you, but I knew you wouldn't want to see me after how I treated you. I'm sorry for that – I'm -” He faltered for a second, the palm of his hand wiping away a stray tear. “You were the only thing in my life I'd ever got right, Mick. I fucked it up.”

“Jesus christ, Gallagher. Only a fool would fall for you.” Ian looked up, hurt in his eyes but Mickey had a weird smile on his face. “You don't have shit to be sorry for, not for back then.”

“Come on, Mickey. I treated you like shit!”

“Yeah, you did. But you'd just been diagnosed with the same shit your mother had, and you knew exactly what it had done to her – to be fair, she was on all sorts of shit and not on meds, but still. Of course that's gonna fuck you over.” Mickey spoke carefully, wanting Ian to understand clearly where he was coming from. “I don't blame you for how you treated me back then.”

“But -”

“Can you shut the fuck up for a second?” Ian nodded, his hands back to twisting his t shirt. Mickey shook his head. This being honest and up front about feelings shit wasn't all it was cracked up to be. “How can I say this any clearer? It fucking hurt like a motherfucker when you broke up with me. But I got it. I still get it.”

Ian opened his mouth to speak and Mickey held up a hand. “If you fucking apologise one more time, I will punch you in the balls.”

“I'm not – I just -” Ian faltered again, sighing into his lap.

“I get it, Ian, okay? This...bipolar, this sadness – it changed you. And yeah, things weren't like they used to be. I couldn't...” It was Mickey's turn to struggle with words now. He thought for a second; he could fucking do this, talk about feelings. He surged forward bravely. “I couldn't understand how you were feeling with all of that shit. I couldn't follow you that way but you had to know I was ready to go along for the ride, whatever that meant?”

His voice finally broke; it was too much, all of this talking. He choked on his words slightly and stubbornly wiped his tears away. In a gruff voice, he continued. “I wasn't pissed that you broke up with me.” Ian pulled a face and Mickey relented. “Okay, I was a little bit. But I got it. I know I'm not the smartest Milkovich in the box – you've fucking met Mandy – but I knew you. I know you. And that wasn't you. So I didn't blame you.”

“But you were so mad at me when you came back last week.” Ian's voice was quiet in the small room; the pair of them had moved slightly closer to each other while they'd been talking. Tiny, minuscule movements that added up. Ian's knee was almost touching Mickey's leg. He craved the touch but held back.

“I don't blame you for breaking up with me but what kind of shit idea was it to not come see me or find out how I was doing?”

“Mandy gave me updates but it was easier not to know. I didn't think you would want to see me, I really didn't. Hell, I didn't want to see me.” He trailed off slightly and Mickey cocked his head to one side.

“What do you mean?”

“I went through a tough time – that much is obvious. I got my head right, I was on my meds but...I was missing you. I was kind of in a controlled spiral. That was when Mandy showed up; she sorta saved me in a way.” Mickey made a mental note to properly apologise to his sister; as genuinely as he could. Ian was quiet for a moment. “I couldn't see you because I was afraid of how I'd feel, how you'd make me feel.”

“Ah, fuck.” Mickey breathed out. He stood and moved into the bedroom, calling out over his shoulder to Ian. “You wanna smoke?”

Ian answered and Mickey brought the pack into the room, handing one to Ian. They lit them together and sat for a moment, smoke filling their lungs and the room, too. The emotion in the air had got to him; it was too much, and he needed a moment. They smoked in silence, Mickey leaning back to rest his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes. He breathed deeply, the cigarette relaxing him. He glanced at Ian.

“When I was little, I didn't know anyone with a healthy relationship. Fucking no one. Dad was always bringing home random women who never lasted long; my brothers followed in his footsteps. I didn't think...” Fuck this. No one ever said it was this hard telling people how you felt. “When I met you and...things changed between us, I didn't want to fucking accept it. I'd never let myself feel that way before, never had anyone who had made me feel like that. That wasn't supposed to be on the cards for me. I didn't want to – I couldn't accept what that meant. In our world, in my world...no one ended up fucking happy.”

“I made you happy.” Ian was quiet, his voice almost a whisper but Mickey heard him.

“I couldn't accept that, though. Not in the beginning, anyway. But yeah, you fucking did.” Mickey felt open, raw, and overexposed. He couldn't stop, though; he had needed to get this out for the last three years. “But we lived on the fucking south side, Ian. In what world were we going to end up with a white picket fence? I wanted us to beat the odds so badly but everything – it all fucking got sucked down the fucking drain.”

He lit another cigarette and closed his eyes for a moment. Ian was patient, silent as he waited for Mickey to talk again. Taking a breath, he kept going. “I hated you for leaving me. You of all people knew what it took for me – for me to come out for you, to say -” _Fuck. This._ “And you fucking left me.”

“I thought I was doing you a favour.”

“Well, you fucking weren't, okay? We were family. I would have done anything for you.” He had used the past tense and Ian's eyes questioned it, but Mickey ignored it. “You fucking left me, Ian.”

It was all out between them. Mickey's words had filled the air, clogging up the room and both of them felt the strain. He had never been this honest, not with anyone. Ian reached over and took a cigarette as Mickey finished his own in record time. They were silent again, neither sure of what to say next. 

“I'm sorry.” Ian said into the room, and Mickey knew he was being genuine. Mickey was quite obviously uncomfortable with being so open.

“Ian, christ – stop apologising!”

“I'm not saying sorry for my bipolar, Mickey, fuck. I'm sorry that I was such a dick to you.”

“Well you fucking were.” Mickey said stupidly. 

“I'm also sorry about -” He paused and Mickey knew what was coming. He rested his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, not ready to see Ian speak the words yet. “I'm sorry for throwing it back in your face when you told me you loved me.”

Mickey was replaying it in his head, as Ian surely was, too. It hurt, even now. He kept his eyes closed but his hands fisted in his lap, betraying his emotions. “I don't wanna talk about that.”

“Well we fucking should, Mick.”

“No, we fucking shouldn't, Ian!” Mickey spat back. His tolerance had gone; he was done with this emotion bullshit. “I'm done with this.”

“So what? You're going to run away again?” Ian hurled at him and Mickey flipped him off. “We're fucking talking about this, Mick.”

“Fucking hell.” Mickey seethed and stood up. Ian made a noise of anger. “Calm your fucking tits, I'm getting a beer.”

He returned a moment later and threw one towards Ian, ignoring the grunt as the can hit him in the leg. Mickey cracked it opened and downed three quarters of it, not apologising when a loud burp sounded from his mouth. Ian just shook his head.

“Fucking what?” Mickey demanded.

“Do you still love me?”

Mickey was floored by the question, completely taken aback by the audacity of his question. He felt a redness creep up his cheeks and hated himself for a moment. “I don't know, Ian – what would you even say if I said I did? Oh no – wait a second, I know what you would say. 'What does that even mean?' - right?” He laughed coldly.

“Isn't that what you said to me before you ran away?”

“Yeah, and it was a direct quote from you, fuck face.”

Ian glared at him, his eyes boring holes into Mickey's but the latter was too worked up to care. “Well, what does it mean?”

“Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard, Mickey. What does it mean?”

Without a second of hesitation or warning, Mickey crashed into Ian, their beers dropping to the floor, forgotten. He smashed his lips onto Ian's, immediately working his tongue into his mouth and Ian pulled him closer, his fingers tightening around the back of Mickey's neck. It was over in a flash, though, and as he pulled away, Mickey hitched a glare to his face.

“That's what it fucking means, Ian. I'm fucking in love with you, you fucking asshole. I never fucking stopped.”

Another leap of faith. It was the second time in his life he'd said it to someone not in his immediate family, and even then he could count on one hand the amount of times he'd said it to them. He closed his eyes, counting to ten slowly in his mind to try and calm himself. He was waiting for the fall; why had he even opened the front door?

“Really?”

“No, Ian. I just walking around telling random fucks that I love them. Jesus.”

“I'm sorry.” Ian whispered, and for a moment Mickey's heart dropped; fuck. He'd made a mistake. “I shouldn't have treated you the way I did when you said that last time.”

“I think there's a common response to a statement like that, right? Am I fucking missing something?”

“I fucking love you too, you fucking idiot.” They grinned at each other for a moment, Ian flipping Mickey off this time. “Back then...when I was horrible and an asshole...did you mean that? All that you said...good, bad?”

“Have I not fucking made myself clear about this yet?” Mickey said desperately and then took a deep breath, calming himself. “Yes, I meant it. Do you wanna go down to the court house like a pair of fairies tomorrow or should we plan a ceremony?”

Mickey laughed harshly at his own joke but Ian smiled sadly. “I was such a dick to you. Saying all those things.”

“I think we've been over this, Gallagher. You've apologised more than enough.” In an affectionate gesture his former self would have hated, Mickey reached out and took Ian's hand, holding it tight. “Wait – how the fuck did you even find my house?”

“How do you think? Mandy.” When Mickey pulled a face, Ian continued. “You should give her a chance, Mick. She only ever kept quiet because I told her to. She's like cupid for you and I, you know.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No – she practically forced me to come here.”

“Oh, I see. So you didn't wanna haul ass here any sooner? You only came because Mandy said so?” He meant it as a joke but Ian's face was serious.

“Of course not. I wanted to come!” 

Silence. Mickey wasn't sure where they were supposed to go from here; he felt drained from their talk but Ian was biting his lip, wanting to say more.

“I wanted to come because I missed you. We couldn't leave it the way we had done – you just ran away.” Ian had taken his hand away and Mickey was aware of a hardness appearing in his eyes; he did not have the energy for more fighting. “Why did you run?”

Mickey ran his hand through his hair and reached for another cigarette. He had no idea what the time was but he wanted to collapse in bed and forget about this whole ordeal. Preferably with Ian by his side. “Because I'm a pussy? I couldn't handle it? I don't fucking know. Why are you fucking mad again?”

“I'm not – I just hate when people run away. Monica did it, Frank was always doing it. Then you fucking did it, too.”

“I didn't feel like I had a choice, Gallagher! You were riding my ass about talking and feelings and shit – I couldn't cope, okay? You like hearing how weak I am?” Who the fuck had Mickey turned into? This is what Ian did to him, and part of him hated it.

“You've coped tonight?”

“Christ – what has got into you all of a sudden?” Ian's sudden change in mood was causing Mickey's anger levels to rise again.

“So if we do this – whatever this is going to be – how can I know you won't run away again?”

Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a breath. “Jesus, Ian. I'm not fucking going anywhere! Can you just calm the fuck down?” Ian stood up, stealing a cigarette from Mickey's pack and lighting it. He looked down at Mickey still sitting on the couch, a look of bewilderment on his face. Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Where are you going? Are _you_ running away now?”

“Fuck you.” Ian shot out at Mickey's mocking tone. He visibly relaxed as he sucked on the cigarette. “I have to get back home for work tomorrow. Listen, I don't think I should stay tonight away. So much has happened...I just don't know what to think about it all.”

“I told you I fucking loved you.”

“I know you did. I'm not denying how you feel. I just – I don't want to risk you running away again. Just take some time to think – I will too. I need to know if you actually want to be with me but promise me -” His voice broke and he cleared his throat roughly, his eyes shining. “When you're through thinking, say yes, okay?”

And in a way that almost mirrored the way Mickey had left, Ian walked out of the room and out the front door. Mickey was too stunned to move, to speak; he couldn't believe this is the direction their talk had taken. Had he really just watched Ian walk out? In a flash, he was angry at himself; he had let Ian leave. This was like some twisted game of cat and mouse where no one won, they just went back and forth, and he was sick of it. He continued to do nothing instead of fighting for what he wanted.

But Ian had been right, in a way. Mickey did need to think – he knew he wanted to be with Ian, but what did that mean for them? He felt like there was a mountain outside his door, one he had to climb to get what he wanted but even then, he wasn't sure he had the strength. He sighed to himself and retired to the bedroom; lying under a mess of blankets and pillows, he squeezed his eyes shut. Why wasn't anything ever fucking easy between them?


	9. Cut me, Mick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! Love and thoughts are always welcome. Come hang on tumblr: thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com

It had taken everything in Ian's power to walk out of Mickey's flat and leave. Every inch of him wanted to stay, especially once Mickey realised what was going on; the look on his face almost tore Ian in two, and he couldn't handle it. The exhaustion of the past few days was taking its toll on him. Despite taking his meds on schedule, certain emotional upheavals could mess him around and as he sat on a train in the middle of the night on his way back to Chicago, he could feel the effects of the last few days. The seat on the train was terribly uncomfortable but Ian slumped into it, finding a comfortable position and settling quietly. He pulled his phone out and fired off a text to Mandy.

_On my way home. Can you pick me up? Sorry it's so early._

_Already? Just text me when you're close. I'll be there._

Ian closed his eyes, grateful for Mandy and her friendship that never faltered; he was incredibly lucky she had walked back into his life. It relaxed him slightly knowing that she was going to be there for him when he arrived back in Chicago and he let his mind wander, his eyes drooping closed with the movement of the train. 

One thought kept popping up to bother him; Mickey loved him. He never thought he'd hear Mickey say those three words again, not after all that went down. He'd resigned himself to the fact that he probably would never find anything like what he had had with Mickey – there's no way lightening struck twice, and Ian had never really had good luck. When he'd broken up with Mickey and semi-moved on with his life, he had always managed to push the sound of Mickey saying he loved him to the back of his mind. Now, in his half asleep state, he saw him again; the memory was different this time, blurred. It mixed together with the memory of Mickey saying it again, just hours earlier. Ian smiled, despite himself.

He wasn't too worried about the outcome of this situation, really; he was almost one hundred percent sure that Mickey would come and find him, but there was always going to be that bit of doubt. As much as they had both been in the wrong and both had reasons to apologise, Ian was terrified that Mickey would run again. Thoughts swirled in his head about what they would do if they got back together; where would they live? It hurt to think about when he was this tired, and he let sleep sweep him away.

\--

Mandy let him rest in the car. They didn't say more than two words to each other but they didn't need to; Mandy had pulled him into a hug when she'd seen him and that had been enough. When they arrived home, it was early morning. Ian had to work the following evening and he folded himself into bed, grateful for the comfort. His sleep was broken, though. He tossed and turned, waking every hour or so before sleep would pull him under again. At one point, he grew hot and woke in a panic, tangled in his sheets and sweat glistening on his forehead. Feeling defeated, he climbed out of bed and showered; he would go to work early. He needed the distraction.

Stepping out of the shower, Ian felt mildly better; his body still felt drained, both physically and emotionally, however. He glanced at his watch and realised he still had hours before he had to be at work, and despite the fact that he needed the diversion from his thoughts, he was already considering phoning in sick. His hair still damp, he moved back into his room and collected his phone, notebook and pencils; the sun was out and he was going to soak it up for once. 

Mandy was nowhere to be seen and he felt a pull of sadness; he could do with the company. He spread out on the front step, bathing in the warm sunlight and sighing softly as he began to draw. If he was really honest with himself, Ian had half expected Mickey to follow him out of the apartment the night before. It would have been cut straight from a soppy film but in those movies, the couples never talked about their problems. One grand romantic gesture and all was forgiven; the boring straight couple lived happily ever after. It was all the same. Ian wanted an ending like that for him and Mickey but he wasn't stupid. They had too much history to just push that all aside.

The Mickey he'd seen the last week was totally different to the one he'd known. Ian couldn't quite get over the confidence, and the willingness to share what he was feeling. It made Ian feel sad to think of the years Mickey had spent under his dad's thumb, trapped and not able to come to terms with who he was. Ian, on the other hand, had it relatively easy in terms of coming out. His family had always been supportive and he'd never had to really worry about what they would think of him being gay. Mickey had had pressure since the day he realised he was different.

Ian couldn't imagine living with the constant risk and fear of someone finding out your darkest secret; Mickey had done it his whole childhood, his own twisted ideas of homosexuality even affecting how he no doubt thought of himself. Even with the threat of his dad hanging over him, Mickey had still proven time after time that he was there for Ian; from coming out in a bar full of drunks – his shithole of a father being one of those – to constantly looking after Ian and keeping him out of trouble. Mickey had been there for Ian more than his family had in some instances. Of course he wasn't going to run away. Ian didn't give him nearly enough credit for all Mickey had done for him. A plan was slowly forming in his mind of how to make it up to him, but for the plan to be complete he needed some help.

As if on cue, his phone rang out next to him on the step. He glanced at the picture he'd been slowly drawing and saw his own face next to Mickey's, both of them smiling up from the paper. Ian smiled to himself and picked up the phone.

“Do you have psychic capabilities or some shit?”

“That's my major this year,” Lip joked and Ian grinned wider. His brother cut straight to the case, though. “Fiona told me Mickey's in town.”

“She ask you to check on me?”

“Something like that. You doing okay?”

With one hand Ian closed his notebook and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. He put it in his mouth and lit it, enjoying the feeling of relaxation wash over him almost immediately. “You should know better, Lip. I'm fine. I need your help with something though.”

“Yeah?” There was a breath over the line and Ian realised his brother was smoking, too. “And what would that be, little bro?”

–

Skipping out on work was not something Ian did often, but he was adult and could do whatever the fuck he wanted, thank you very much. After organising things with Lip, Ian had called his boss and claimed food poisoning – easy enough to fake – had a quick lunch and left the house. He made his way to the store a block down from his house to pick up the things he needed; the storekeeper gave him a suspicious look as Ian placed the items on the counter and Ian puffed himself up, ready for the question but the transaction went off without a hitch. Ian put the items in his backpack and heaved it onto his back, wincing slightly at the heavy weight of it.

He'd text Mickey as soon as he'd finished on the phone with Lip and hoped like hell that the black haired boy was on his way already. Ian had even checked the train schedules to make sure Mickey would get there at the same time Ian did; if Mickey had left straight away, he should be almost there. Mickey had text back quickly hours earlier: _I'm on my way already._

The Milkovich house had never looked less threatening; there was a time when Ian had been petrified of Mickey and his brothers. That fear had then moved onto Terry. Now, Ian felt nothing but anger at what had gone on in this house; the abuse, his own troubles with bipolar and the tough times they'd all gone through in this house – Mandy, Mickey, everyone. He couldn't wait to put his plan into motion. The house looked empty and Ian found the front door more than unlocked; it was almost hanging off the hinges. He darted inside quickly, not wanting any neighbours to see him, and dumped his bag on the floor. The smell almost made him vomit and he silently wished Mickey would hurry up. Unable to help himself, he walked through the house and into Mickey's room for old time's sake.

If he didn't feel sick already, the sight of Mickey's room sure pushed Ian right over the edge. The slur written dozens of times across the walls made him feel physically sick and he stepped out of the room almost immediately, not even taking in the state of the rest of the bedroom. It only made him more sure that what he had planned was the right thing to do.

“Looks like Terry redecorated, huh?”

Ian whirled around at the sound of Mickey's voice and found him standing in the doorway of the house, a weird smile on his face. Ian moved to him as quickly as he could, ignoring their run down and smelly surroundings to pull Mickey into a hug. They stayed close together for a moment before Ian pulled away, his hands cupping Mickey's face as he pulled him in. It was a soft kiss, light and full of promise as they separated again.

“Why did you have me meet you here?”

“You remember our almost-date?” Ian asked and Mickey furrowed his brow for a second before Ian saw the recognition in his face. “We never got to have that, did we?”

“Sammi saw to that.” Mickey's voice was full of venom but it passed quickly. He looked around the house. “But I'm not so sure I wanted our first date to be in this shit hole, Gallagher.”

Ian grinned at the name; he loved hearing Mickey call him by his last name. “No, we're going on our first official date tonight. But I had something planned first.”

Ian walked over to where his bag was lying on the floor, bulky and oddly shaped. Mickey was watching him carefully as Ian pulled out two cans of spray paint.

“Ian, what the fuck?” Ian rolled his eyes; Mickey still wasn't piecing two and two together.

“I thought we could add our own words.” He explained slowly and Mickey looked confused, his eyes flicking between the cans and Ian's grinning face.

“The fuck?” Mickey repeated. Ian sighed dramatically and Mickey flipped him off.

He threw one can towards Mickey; the latter only just caught it before it almost hit him in the face. Ian took a breath and moved back into Mickey's old room, doing his best to ignore the words already written on the walls. He walked across to the closest one and shook his can. Mickey stood in the doorway, watching silently. Over the giant slur written in black, Ian held up his can and began writing. The fumes from the paint hit him immediately and went straight to his head, but he used his other arm to cover his mouth and nose, continuing to write. He heard Mickey laughing behind him as he realised what Ian was writing. In bright pink spray paint, the words 'Ian 4 Mickey' now covered over the black words. Ian turned to grin at Mickey.

“Are you going to help or just stand there?”

“I ain't writing anything gay like that,” Mickey joked, pretending to be offended but Ian saw the laughter in his eyes. Mickey began writing on the wall and Ian watched the words appear: 'Terry loves dick.'

“Wow, mature.” Ian snorted, giving way to laughter at Mickey's indignant face. “Get to work; this is only part one.”

They spent the next half hour covering the walls with spray paint, alternating between confessions of love for each other – and each other's body parts – and insults towards Terry. Ian was just finishing a particularly large drawing of his favourite part of Mickey when he realised he was alone in the kitchen. A noise told him that Mickey was in Terry's room and before he went to investigate, he picked up his bag. Ian pushed open the door to reveal Mickey finishing up on Terry's wall. In the same way that Mickey's room had been originally painted, Mickey had painted the word 'gay' on every wall, every surface.

“I was trying to think of something to insult him with,” Mickey started bitterly, wiping a thumb over his lip. “Then I realised the worst thing in his eyes is who I am.”

Ian felt his heart lurch at the words but he remained standing where he was. “The worst thing in his eyes is you being happy _because_ of who you are, Mick.” Mickey was silent, and Ian pulled a bottle out of the bag in his hands. He threw it at Mickey. “Here.”

Mickey's eyes lit up as he realised what was in the bottle – the fumes were already invading their noses. Mickey shook his head, laughing softly. “Jesus fucking christ, Gallagher.”

“Don't tell me you don't want to?” Ian suggested and Mickey laughed again, louder this time. 

“Lets do this shit.”

Combined with the smell of paint, the lighter fluid caused both boys to cough by the time they'd finished dousing each room of the house. They'd made sure not to use too much – they had no intentions of setting the whole neighbourhood alight – but enough that it would catch quickly. They stood at the back door, Ian with a lighter in one hand and his bag in the other. He pulled out two black jumpers.

“It's too fucking hot for that shit,” Mickey complained as soon as Ian handed one over.

“Look, I'm not about to get us both arrested, okay?” Ian shot back, and they both pulled the jumpers on, immediately feeling the heat. Ian pulled his phone out. “And before you complain, I'm going to call the fire department before we leave because there are people in the house next door and I'm not about to let them burn.”

Mickey held his hands up in defeat. “Calm the fuck down, Firecrotch.” 

Ian made the call on his phone, not bothering to disguise his voice as he gave the address of the house. He hung up with a grin on his face and held the lighter out towards Mickey. “Care to do the honours?”

Mickey took it, an odd look on his face. Ian couldn't imagine what was running through Mickey's mind at the idea of burning his house down and Ian panicked for a second that this had been a horrible idea but a second later, Mickey smiled. He bent down to the trail of lighter fluid they'd left, his hand holding the lighter steady. Ian watched the flame spark, catch hold and within a second, the fire took off.

It was stunning. The sight of the flames moving quickly into the centre of the house and latching on to anything it could find; both Ian and Mickey stood watching for a moment, mesmerised by the sudden intensity and heat of it. Ian came to his senses first. He tugged softly on Mickey's arm, pulling him out of the house. Mickey followed without a word and they took off at a jog, across the backyard and away from the house. Sirens came from the opposite direction, getting closer and closer to the house but the boys were moving away. When they were at a safe enough distance, they stopped running and walked next to each other. Ian took Mickey's hand without a word and Mickey shook it off. For a moment, Ian felt dejected but a second later, Mickey was swinging his arm around Ian's shoulders and pulling him close as they walked. The look on his face told Ian all he needed to know. 

“So, where to now, Romeo?” Mickey inquired, his voice light and it made Ian's heart sing at the sound of it. Ian smiled to himself.

“Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

–

Lip had told Ian a lot about his college years, including working in the on campus kitchen. Lip had made good friends with one of the chefs there, and as such, when that chef – Jose – had left to start his own restaurant in the city centre of Chicago, Lip made a point to visit whenever he could. Tonight, though, it would be closed to the public for the world's most cheesiest date. Ever. Lip had always provided Jose with the best pot, and as such, Jose owed him a favour. Ian was lucky that Lip had gotten over his grudge for Mickey – for whatever reason – and had agreed to help Ian out. Osmosis was a reasonably fancy restaurant in an understated way. When Ian pulled Mickey towards the door, his eyes widened considerably.

“Are you fucking kidding?”

Ian shook his head. “This is where we're eating. So put up and shut up.” He tugged his hand and moved inside where the empty restaurant only served to further encourage the elegance of the place. This was not a joint two kids from the south side would usually frequent, especially not in the dressed-down clothes they were wearing, but nothing about Ian and Mickey was traditional, and they were not about to dress up in suits for an evening out. Ian felt like it was a lot better if they were themselves. Ian took in their surroundings and made a mental note to thank Lip again – the tables had been set out in a way that almost circled the centre table, clearly set up for them. There were no candles, of which Ian was glad for – a little too fancy, maybe? A six pack of beer sat on the table though, plus a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Ian wondered just how good the weed had been that Lip had given Jose. Music played quietly and Ian recognised the band he'd asked Lip about, one that he knew Mickey liked. When the front door closed behind them, Jose came out from the kitchen with a grin on his face.

“Lip's brother, right?” He sang out as he walked towards the pair. When Ian nodded, he continued. “You tell him no favour is too big; I owe him a lot.”

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Ian spoke genuinely. The setting was impressive. “This looks amazing.”

“Everything is ready for you guys. We're going to leave you alone – just a few last minute touches to the food. Please, sit down.” Jose gestured to the table and the pair sat as Jose disappeared into the kitchen.

“Ian – what the hell is this?” Mickey whispered furtively, his eyebrows furrowed together in a knot. “How are you paying for this? We could have just gone and got fucking pizza.”

“While I agree that pizza would be amazing, Mr. Milkovich, I thought something a little more private would do for our first date.” Ian put on the most upper-class voice he could muster, enjoying the way Mickey's eyebrows rose with every word. “You're more than welcome to leave, sir, but I think you'll enjoy the food they're prepared tonight.”

There was a beat before Mickey cracked a smile and burst into laughter. Ian slumped in his chair, letting his own smile back onto his face. He reached forward and retrieved a beer each. 

“You're a fucking idiot, Gallagher.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

It was a quiet moment; they locked eyes and Ian felt the pull between them. There's no way that there could have been any other ending for them. They were always going to end up back here. It was destined from the minute Ian stormed Mickey's room looking for the gun. They were interrupted by Jose exiting the kitchen again, a plate of food in hand. As he placed it on the table, the scent of the food immediately surrounded them. Mickey grinned.

“Pizza?” 

It was a rhetorical question and Ian only grinned back. Jose smiled down at the pair and the sight of all three of them smiling like idiots must have looked incredibly ridiculous to an outsider. Another man came out from the kitchen with a basket of fries before he disappeared. Jose clapped his hands together happily. “We are off, now. We'll be back in two hours. Please don't worry about cleaning up; leave all the dishes as they are and we will sort it. If you feel like something sweet for dessert, there are a selection of cakes and slices in the first fridge on your right in the kitchen – help yourself.”

“Jesus.” Mickey muttered under his breath, taking it all in.

“I can't thank you enough, Jose.” Ian beamed, smiling warmly up at the chef.

“Please, it's the least I can do. Lip was a good friend, and he told me a lot about the pair of you.”

They left Ian and Mickey to it, the food steaming hot in front of them and a cold beer in their hands. It was perfect in their own unconventional way, and as they tucked into the food – possibly the best pizza Ian had ever eaten – a content silence fell over the table. Mickey was the first to speak properly after they'd eaten almost of the pizzas and only had a few muttered words to each other.

“Do you think anyone saw us torch dad's house?”

“I don't think so. It was a run down piece of shit – they aren't going to care too much about finding who did it. We'll be fine.” Ian answered, pushing his plate away and finishing the last of his beer can. He reached for another two and handed one to Mickey.

“You – uh – you asked me what it meant. Back then when I told you I loved you, before Sammi fucked it all up.” Ian stared at Mickey as he spoke, unable to believe that he was talking about love so candidly. Mickey paused, his thumb wiping over his lip nervously. “It means I'm in this for good, Ian. I don't want anybody else. I want to make this work with you.”

Ian didn't reply, blown away by the upfront honesty and bluntness of Mickey's words. Instead, he gestured to the leftover food on the table. “Shall we get out of here?”

“I don't want to ruin your date.” Mickey replied, his eyes softer than Ian had ever seen them. If possible, Ian felt his heart beating even faster at the tender look on Mickey's face. 

“It would be a continuation of the date, dick.” Ian teased lightly. Mickey flipped Ian off as they both stood up. “I've already asked Mandy to stay with Josie tonight.”

“Of course you have.”

–

It was like being together for the first time all over again. There was no anger between them, now; no rush, no hurt. They took their time making each other happy, relishing in the moment and the sounds. Ian wanted it to last forever; they'd never been together like this. It felt like all that had happened between them was lost, forgotten in a wave of emotion that washed over them time and time again, removing any trace of the anger between them. When they moved together, it was like time had stopped. It was a cliché, Ian knew, but that's all he could think of it as; it was like nothing either of them had experienced before. When they came, they came crashing down together, falling hard and both crying out with the effort of feeling so much all at once. It was a long time before either spoke; heavy breathing filled the room. They held hands, gripping on tightly despite the heat they had generated in the room. Mickey slowly turned to Ian, a strange look on his face.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I fell in love with a pyromaniac?”


	10. With You Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

Having no social life came in handy. All the money Ian wasn't spending on going out with friends – and instead staying in to draw – was put into a savings account. When travelling back and forth between his house and Mickey's house got too tiring, not to mention expensive, the pair decided something needed to change. Mickey had tentatively told Ian about his future plans of moving to New York to be closer to Yev and Ian had then jumped at the idea. The only drawback was that his best friend was staying put; not that she would be alone. Josie moved in two days after Ian had left and Mandy couldn't be happier.

It was a reasonably easy transition to New York, all things considered. Moving was supposed to be a stressful event but both Ian and Mickey had adjusted well. Mickey was able to keep his job by transferring to the New York division of the building company. It meant Ian could take his time finding a job himself, but it didn't take him too long. They settled in to domestic life easily; it was a fresh start, away from the south side and away from the past that had plagued them for so long. They were happy. Yevgeny was even happier to have his dad close – and now, his uncle. Svetlana was trying to get Yev into the habit of calling Ian dad, too. 

It was nearing the end of summer. One of those days when you melted during the day but as soon as the sun started to go down, a chill crept in and you had to cover up. Ian and Mickey had Yevgeny for the weekend while Svetlana and Kate were away visiting Kate's family before the wedding. The trio had planned a trip to the park but a dark and rather threatening looking rain cloud changed their plans. They had decided to stay in and have a movie night, complete with make-shift forts and mattresses in the lounge. Ian watched as Mickey and Yev balanced a stack of books on a chair to keep the sheet underneath them still; the sheet stretched across to another chair and set of books on the other side of the room. It was genius, really. Ian held a bowl of popcorn in his hand and a had a smile on his face as he stood in the doorway. Yevgeny was going to grow up so much happier than either Ian or Mickey had done. Mickey was intent on being a better father than Terry had been, but Ian knew already that he wasn't going to find that hard. Surprisingly, being a dad came as naturally to Mickey as swearing did.

“What are you standing over there for, Firecrotch?” Mickey called out with a wicked look in his eye and Ian shook his head, realising both boys were staring at him. 

“Firecrotch?” Yevgeny asked with a puzzled look on his young face and Ian felt his face blush. “What does that mean?”

“Never you mind!”

“Ian's nickname!”

Ian and Mickey spoke at the same time and the taller of the pair glared. He snapped back to movement and changed the subject as he walked towards them both. “What movie did you decide on?”

“The Lego Movie!” Yev shouted excitedly and Ian grinned; the one kid's movie that he could handle. “I saved you a spot under here, Dad.”

Smiling at the name, Ian got on his knees and crawled under the sheet; Mickey had made sure when constructing their fort to leave enough room that they could both sit comfortably leaning against the couch. Mickey followed, a grin on his face, and Yev bent down to peek under.

“Are you coming, little myshka?” Mickey called, using Svetlana's favourite nickname for him. Yev grinned at the pair of them and shook his head.

“I need to get one more thing!” He disappeared a moment later, his footsteps running off in the other direction.

“What's he up to?” Ian asked, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth and pulling the remote control closer. Mickey shrugged, leaning back on the couch and taking Ian's free hand in his own. His thumb slowly wiped over Ian's skin. “Oh, and thanks a-fucking-lot for telling him about Firecrotch! You know he'll never forget that!”

“No problem, Firecrotch.”

Ian was about to retort angrily when Yevgeny came running back into the room and flung himself under the sheet and onto the mattress. In his hands was a small soft toy, a green troll with flaming orange hair and camouflage overalls on. It was the oddest looking toy Ian had ever seen. He felt Mickey tense next to him slightly.

“What's that, Yev?”

“Who is that, Ian.” Yev corrected in that pretentious way that only a child could. “This is my troll. His name is Army. Daddy gave him to me when I turned three whole years old!”

It didn't take a second for Ian to make the connection; between the red hair and the name, he knew exactly who this toy was a replica of. “Did he just?”

“Yes! And he said to always keep Army safe! I don't take him on big trips so I don't lose him, right dad? I'm really good at looking after him.” Yev puffed out his chest proudly, holding the toy close. Mickey avoided Ian's eye. Yev was beaming happily. “Can we start the movie now that I have Army?”

Ian pressed play and the film came to life. As Yevgeny lay on his stomach, his eyes glued to the screen and the toy watching next to him, Ian turned into Mickey.

“Don't even fucking start, Ian.” Mickey whispered furtively out of the corner of his mouth, careful not to let Yev hear him swearing. Ian grinned widely.

“I think it's cute that you missed me so much you gave your son a toy with my nickname and my hair.” Ian started and Mickey rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could. “Where did you even find a toy with so many similarities to me?!”

“I went into one of those toy factory things where you make your own.” Mickey mumbled into his chest, knowing Ian wouldn't let it rest if he didn't answer, and Ian smiled even wider. “Look, don't even start, okay? I thought it was a nice gift for Yev and -”

Ian cut him off with his lips, a soft, quiet kiss that made Mickey sigh. Ian pulled back, smiling at Mickey. “You're such a softie at heart, aren't you? You like to pretend you're all big and tough, but really you're just a giant teddy bear.”

“Get fucked.”

“Dad, are you watching?” Yev demanded, not turning away from the screen and Mickey mumbled a reply, smiling in the direction of his child.

“You know what? Yev wasn't the only thing your dad gave you, Mick.” Ian had stopped teasing now, his voice soft.

Mickey's eyebrows knitted together and the light coming from the TV made him look almost comical. “The fuck?”

“In a weird way, if he wasn't dead, we wouldn't be here.” It was an odd thought, but the more Ian thought about it, the more he realised what he'd said was true. “He died so that we could get back together.”

Mickey stared at Ian, a disbelieving look on his face. He shook his head. “You always know how to put a positive spin on things, don't you?”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was only a lil epilogue, but I didn't wanna drag it out. And I maybe have another fic I wanna start writing. Maybe.
> 
> Thank you so SO much to everyone who has read this, commented, gave kudos, recommended it on tumblr..you're all wonderful and I love you! I hope I did Mickey and Ian justice. I just wanted to give them a nice ending. :)
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr!   
> thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com


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